


Strength and Grace

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Artist Castiel, Dancer Sam, Disability, Hurt Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:46:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 46,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At one time, Sam was a dancer at a prominent art school with a bright future. He was talented and athletic, smart and captivating. Then an act of heroism left Dean with permanent brain damage, and Sam gave it all up to care for his beloved brother. Castiel is a delinquent who doesn't have much of a future at all. A surprise rain storm will change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White Walls

**Author's Note:**

> A Nonny Mouse prompt.

The thing that broke Sam's heart every single day, the thing that would not let it scar over and begin to heal, was that Dean would never understand that their roles had changed forever. Every day, Dean had to be reminded to let Sam help him. It was the first and most prominent of his tattoos, the one on his right forearm directed toward his own eyes.

 _Let Sam help_.

It was the first thing he saw every morning, or if it wasn't, Sam gently pointed it out as soon as the older man emerged from the bedroom. Dean would frown at it, every damn time, and then nod very slowly. His brain would never really remember. But it was something like muscle memory now. He trusted Sam. And he had clearly consented to the tattoo at some point.

 _Let Sam help_.

Then there was the one along the inside of his left bicep. There were three lines, because any more than that was too overwhelming, and they were numbered one, two, three. Some days, Sam had written a short reminder on one or more of the lines. "Check if you need to shave" or "find Sam for your meds" were common ones. Then there was a permanent fourth and fifth reminder.

_4\. Don't call Dad.  
5\. Sam is fine._

_Sam is fine_.

Sam was fine. He counted himself lucky every night that his brother was alive. Sometimes he did it while sobbing, but that didn't make him any less grateful, did it? And it didn't make him any less fine. He was a grown man-overgrown, Dean liked to say-and he was too old to be pining for what could never be. What was? That was fine. It really was fine.

Dean stumbled out of his rack later today than usual. A lifetime of being the obnoxious morning person in the family had turned into Sam wrestling him awake by ten so he didn't screw up his sleep cycle. The last thing he needed was for his brother to turn completely nocturnal on him. Sam slept little enough as it was.

"Hey, man," Sam called from the small dining table which worked overtime as desk and mail drop as well. He closed his laptop and focused on his brother's face to see if he had gotten the memo yet this morning.

Dean narrowed his eyes at him, then tapped his tattoo with two fingers, with a questioning look on his face. "You get me wasted?"

Sam smirked. He gave Dean his usual response. "If I'd done that, it would say something far better."

Dean nodded slowly, his smile at odds with the confusion in his eyes. "Is it...something bad?"

The younger man sighed. So it was one of those days. He closed his laptop. "Dean, everything is fine."

"Yeah. Sammy's fine, and don't call Dad. I saw that. What the hell?"

Hazel eyes closed. "Yeah, don't try calling Dad again. Please." He heaved another sigh, and tried to keep in mind that even if this was the two hundredth time Sam explained this-and it probably was-it was only Dean's first time hearing it.

He shuffled to the table and looked down at Sam expectantly. The complete trust on Dean's face sometimes made Sam feel better. Other times, it made him want to try to smack it off, to break that unbearable confidence in Sam. But that wouldn't matter. Dean would be back to trusting him again in just a few hours. Nothing was permanent for Dean except confusion.

And Sam. Sam was permanent. He took a breath. "Dean, man, I know you don't remember this. But going on two years ago, you had an accident, okay?" As if a guy shooting his brother in the head could be called an accident, the bastard. "You did something that saved somebody else. You were a hero. But you got hurt, and now you can't remember day to day. So we got you the tattoos, to help with that."

There was a trembling in Dean's hand now, as he felt the inked skin.

"See? It's not new, man. You've had it a long time."

Sometimes Sam worried that receiving this shock over and over, three to four times some weeks, was detrimental to Dean's health. It couldn't be good to put this on his heart day in and day out. But the doctor said there wasn't much to be done about that, except the anti-anxiety medication. Sam only gave that to him when it had been a particularly difficult day, but from the way Dean was shaking now, maybe it wasn't a bad idea.

"Dean? You need to eat, man. I gotta get back to work."

The green eyes lifted to lock onto Sam's. It was moments like this that threw Sam's own brain. Anyone looking at them now would think there was an older brother standing over his younger brother, about to tell him what to do. Part of Sam wanted that, every time. And every time, he got something else entirely.

"So what do I do?" Dean asked hoarsely.

Sam forced himself to smile. "You eat breakfast. Go on. Your brain's damaged, not your hands. Fix some cereal. I gotta get my headset back on. You going to be okay? Make some breakfast and turn on some sports?"

Dean nodded quietly.

He hated the lost look on his brother's face, but he really did need to get his headset back on. There was no mercy for a techie who didn't take the right number of calls each shift. He had burned a few minutes in daydreams already. Not that this was Dean's fault. Sam just needed to focus on the here and now better.

The here and now was fine, after all.

In his peripheral, he monitored Dean's movements. The man began to take out some bacon, then glanced at Sam quickly, and put it back in the bin. Sam sighed. So it was one of those days when "Let Sam help you" translated into "Do just what Sam told you to do, nothing more, nothing less. Do not deviate from Sam's instructions in any way."

He muted his microphone. "Dude, if you want to make bacon, that's fine."

Everything was fine.

"I suggested cereal but that doesn't mean you-" He pressed the key again. "Yes, ma'am, I'm still here. Just taking a look at your issue in depth." People liked to hear that. It usually bought him a moment or two to help Dean. He muted again and saw the look of uncertainty on his brother's face. "Dude, I'm serious. You can cook whatever you want. Just try to remember to turn off the burners after."

Dean reached for the cereal, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yes, ma'am. And did you ensure that the cable is properly connected at both ends? I'll wait."

He stared out at the blank wall across the room. The last time he had tried to paint it, it had freaked Dean out, and caused awful disorientation. He had quickly painted over the calm blue with white again, cursing himself for having changed Dean's environment when he knew better, and cursing Dean for living in an apartment with plain white walls before his accident. That wall plagued him. Every day, his life was white walls and endless calls. It had become a sort of taunting chant in his mind. White walls and endless calls. Endless walls and white calls.

But that was fine.

"Yes, ma'am. No trouble. If you need anything call again." Sam recorded the call data, and took the next in the queue. He watched Dean settle on the couch and look down at the coffee table to find the scrapbook Sam kept for him.

He smiled at the fondness in his brother's eyes as he flipped page after page.

"Yes, sir. That's a compatibility issue. Let's see if we can create a workaround. I'd like to access your desktop remotely. Would that be all right for you?"

God help him, Sam wished he could access Dean's brain remotely. To see for himself which part of the drive was not allowing for connection. He could fix it himself.

"Thank you. Now, you're about to see a permission-yes, click okay. Good. Now please don't move your mouse or trackpad or type for a moment. You'll see me working on your screen. I'll let you know when I'm finished."

Sam could do this in his sleep now. His supervisors liked him because he was pleasant to the customers calling in for help, and he was efficient with every call. His call times were some of the best in the department at Sandover, as were his customer service survey responses. But he still struggled to take enough calls every shift, because he inevitably had to disconnect to help Dean with something. He had tried moving to night shift at one point, but that was far worse, because he was too tired to help Dean during the day. It was better this way. It was fine.

He muted his microphone again. "You like that? I put in new stuff all the time. Articles about the Chiefs and the Cowboys. Major news stuff. Just random stuff I find that I think you'll like."

"And photos of us," Dean said quietly. "Doing things I don't remember."

Sam smiled sadly, but kept his voice light. His hands were busy fixing the caller's issue, but his attention was on Dean. "Dude, that could be any given Saturday night for you. How much shit do you actually remember from my fake ID days?"

But Dean did not smile as he usually did when Sam made this point. He closed the book carefully. "I remember dropping you off at school," he said. "And I'm not seeing grad photos."

The flinch was violent. He forced his eyes on the split screen in front of him, but he could feel the white walls closing in. "I didn't graduate, man," he murmured.

"Because I got hurt."

"Yeah, Dean," Sam sighed wearily. "Because you got hurt. But it's okay. It's fine."

"So you don't dance anymore. You do...whatever you're doing over there."

The white walls were threatening to close him in with no escape. He cleared his throat. "I don't dance anymore," he confirmed. "I do remote tech support for Sandover. I work from here."

"Because I got hurt."

"Yeah, Dean. Because you got hurt. But you know what? My dance never helped anybody. You-you're a hero. You got hurt to save somebody else. And that's worth a lot more to me than dance. What I do now...it helps folks. It's better this way. It's fine."

Dean frowned, and stared down at his tattoos. "I think I'm going to go back to sleep for now."

Sam sighed. "Just a little longer, man. Okay? You can make it an hour, right? You should do some reading, okay? The therapist wants you to do some reading every day." He touched the key again. "Yes, sir, nearly done. Bear with me."

"I can read in my bunk."

"Okay. Good. What do you want to read?"

"I'll just keep going with _Slaughterhouse_."

Sam closed his eyes, but he nodded and let Dean leave before leaning into his palm.

Dean had been reading the middle of _Slaughterhouse_ for nearly two years.


	2. One of Those Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the span of two years, Sam has come to know Dean's various moods and knows what to expect from him.

It was one of those days this time. When Sam came out of his bedroom, he found Dean already awake, sitting on the floor against the door to the apartment. Green eyes looked up from where he had been leaning over his knees. "I don't understand," he spat hoarsely.

Sam hurried to him, but knew better than to reach out to touch. "Dean, man, it's all okay."

"It ain't okay! Nothing is okay! I talked to Bobby, and I know what's going on! The way you're trying to keep me here!"

Dean had not, in fact, spoken to Bobby. Bobby had left a recorded message for Dean to play, when he thought he was calling. It explained everything, what had happened, and that he loved Dean, and Karen sent her love too. Bobby had not been able to handle Dean's calls after the first few weeks. "Breaks my heart every time," he had said to Sam. "I just can't, kid. I'm sorry. He don't remember after we talk, but I do, and my heart just can't..." Sam had assured him that he understood. Together, they had decided the recording would meet Dean's needs for connecting with Bobby, without the older man having to go through it over and over again. Most days, Dean did not even realize it was a recording. It was one of those days.

"Dean, that isn't what Bobby said, okay? I'm not trying to keep you here. You go out all the time. You just...you just need me with you, okay? And a lot of days, you don't feel like going out. I just can't have you going out by yourself. You get lost, man, I can't..." Frustration was bleeding into his words, and he reminded himself to calm down. "Dean, come on. I put the lock on the door to keep you safe. That's all."

"Why do you get to decide for me?"

The resentment was what always pushed Sam's temper. "Why? Because I'm the one who doesn't have metal in his goddamn head, Dean! I'm the one whose skull isn't being held together by duct tape and safety pins! I'm the one who has to go down to the damn police station to pick you up when you take off while I'm sleeping! Because I need to sleep, Dean! I can only do this if you let me get sleep!"

The wild eyes narrowed. Dean was quiet for a moment, long enough for Sam to begin to feel ashamed for raising his voice. Then he spoke again. "I don't like being trapped. And I don't like being scared."

It was worse than if he had shouted. Sam cringed. "I know, man. I'm sorry. But we can't pretend like you don't need my help. It's just you and me, dude. You gotta trust me, okay?"

"I trust you, Sammy."

He closed his eyes. "I'm glad. You want to go out? Anywhere in particular?"

Dean considered. "Do they still have breakfast in the future?" And now he was smiling shakily, waiting for Sam to respond.

He stood and felt his knees crackle. The joints were protesting their new, sedentary lives. But he laughed. He liked it when Dean was able to joke about the situation. It made everything just a bit easier.

"Yeah," he responded. "Turns out we still need to eat, and you still like bacon."

Sitting across a cafe table with Dean over breakfast was some of the best time he got to spend with his brother. Sure, the guy tended to make the same jokes over and over, but that would have been the case before the accident. For the most part, Sam could pretend they were just as they had always been. Dean spoke slower than before. He was a little more hesitant to speak at all. But he was still Dean at times like this.

"What the hell is that?"

Sam sighed. Still Dean. "It's called a vegetable, dude. A real one. Not like ketchup."

"I know it's a vegetable, asshat. What kind?"

"It's kale."

"That's not a thing."

He laughed and stabbed into the omelet with his fork. "It is."

"What the hell is kale?"

He rolled his eyes.

Dean shrugged and bit into his roasted potatoes. "You don't know either."

"Of course I do!"

"Whatever. Must be one of those things you dancers made up."

Sam was glad Dean had turned toward the window before saying that. When he didn't see it coming, it made him flinch when Dean brought up dance. It was better that Dean didn't see the pain he knew was written across his face.

"So where's Dad?"

Sam bit into his eggs again, but they had no taste suddenly. "He's gone, man."

Dean nodded and stared down at his plate. "Is he dead?"

The younger man smiled bitterly. And what sort of day should it be today? He chose at random, and looked up at Dean. "Nope. Backpacking along the Appalachian Trail."

The green gaze lifted to stare at him now. "Bullshit."

He forced a laugh. "No, I swear! Mid-life crisis. Some kind of spiritual thing. No cellphone, nothing. He's due to call us in a few days. You can talk to him then."

A shocked smile came over his brother's features. "I'll be damned. That's awesome. That's...healthy!"

"Yeah. Really got his act together. You'd be proud of him."

He nodded and continued to smile as he went back to watching out the window.

Sam sighed. It was one of those days.

On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, at about three in the afternoon, a therapist came to work with Dean, and Sam got an hour to himself. He generally spent it napping or reading, or catching up on chores. It was not enough time to leave the apartment. But he appreciated the time. Dean's insurance paid for the therapy, and Sam had gotten to be an expert on all the documentation, and on all the services he was entitled to.

The day he had realized he could hire a nurse to help out two nights a week, Sam had burst into tears. For the first three weeks, he felt too guilty to leave Dean with this person, had hovered over them stupidly, until she had finally taken him aside.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he had fretted. He wanted to plead with her not to leave them. "Is he being difficult? I can talk to him-"

"No," Carmen sighed. "You are!"

Sam blinked at her. "Me?"

She had laughed softly. "Sam, I like your brother. He's just fine. Every time I introduce myself to him and tell him what I'm here for, he goes on about how lucky he is, and that he's certain I came from one of his dreams. He's funny. And he's a perfect gentleman, if you don't count the way he flirts every time I give him his meds."

"Then what's wrong? What did I do wrong?"

She put her hand on his arm. "Sam, you work from home, right?"

He nodded.

"Right. And you only leave the apartment while he's with you. Right?"

"Yeah, I mean...We shop for groceries together and catch a movie once in a while. He can't really go out without me. If he gets confused while he's alone, he panics. So anytime I'm going out, I ask if he wants to come too." Sam wasn't sure what Carmen was getting at.

She smiled at him. "Sam, I'm here twice a week, from six to two in the morning, whether you're here or not. And you're kind of my boss, so I shouldn't say this, but...go get laid, okay?"

His jaw dropped, and he clamped it shut. A hot flush spread from his cheeks to his ears. "I-I don't..."

"Look, your brother is a good guy. And believe it or not, I can take care of myself and him at the same time." She gave him a soft smile. "I'm not just here to help Dean, you know. I'm here to help you. And you aren't letting me do that. Let me make dinner for your brother and give him his meds, and be company for him, and help him with any questions or confusion he has. Let me do a load of laundry and change bedsheets and make sure he can do his physical therapy and his mental exercises. Go. Go out. Do something."

Sam felt lost. "But...what do I do? I mean...I guess I could go grocery-"

"Sam!" she interrupted. "Stop. Go to a bar! Take a class! Join a gym! Join a cult! I don't care. Just go!"

He laughed in bewilderment. "O-okay. I...Yeah, good! I can...Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, what if he needs me?" He hated himself for the way his heart was racing, the way his mind was screaming for the freedom she was offering. He shouldn't want to dump his brother on a nurse and take off. A good brother wouldn't want so badly to run.

But Carmen was laughing at him now. "That's what cellphones are for. I'll call you if we need anything. But, Sam, I'm not a rookie. And your brother is hardly the most difficult patient I've ever had. The worst thing about Dean is that he forgets I can't drink on duty and he keeps offering me a beer. I even like the Chiefs versus Cowboys debates. When he gets disoriented, I can always bring him back by asking what a 1967 Impala has under its hood. He's easy."

Sam laughed too, and there was a bit of giddiness to it. "Yeah, I guess he is. Hard to believe I would even need a break, right?"

Carmen touched his arm again. "Sam, being here sixteen hours a week is nothing like being on duty every hour of every day. And this is my job. It's what I chose to do with my life. This is what you signed up for, but this isn't what you dreamed about. You're a good brother. Go out for a few hours and just be Sam for a while."

It hit him then exactly how he wanted to spend his time. That was the night he had wandered the city, hands in his pockets and backpack slung over a shoulder, until he found the perfect place.

That was the night he found the place he could dance his heart out.


	3. The Disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel isn't exactly the type of artist his family wanted him to be.

Castiel Bojovník was the last person anyone had expected to make something of himself, which was a good thing, since he hadn't. It wasn't as though he had no talent. He had plenty of talent. It wasn't an issue of intelligence. He was off the charts. It was merely a matter of attitude, and Castiel had plenty of that too, also off the charts, and not in a good way.

His grandmother Andela spoke nothing but Slovak at home, and he had to switch for her sake when he checked in on her, but he had only a very mild accent himself. His sister Hana had become a translator, and evidently could make good money. He had cousins, Gabriel, Ludvik and Michal, who had each become reasonably successful in their own fields. But Castiel was the family disappointment. And that was impressive in itself, considering that Ludvik's field was described to Andela as "perfectly legal and nothing to worry about," and Gabriel's was "legitimate business dealings." Michal, of course, was a priest, and it was part of Castiel's court order that he live under Father Michal's roof till the end of probation. As if that made it less likely that Castiel would get himself into trouble again.

He was twenty-three years old, under the legal guardianship of his cousin, who conducted Mass in English, Latin and Slovak twice a week, and spent the rest of his time as the cover for his brothers' shady dealings. Castiel liked his cousins. But he knew better than to think they were that wholesome good influence the judge wanted them to be. And he trusted each of them exactly as far as he could throw them, which was to say not at all.

The city had a small Slovenský-americká and Čechoameričané population, and a lot of the families tended to stay in the neighborhoods where they could speak Slovak or Czech in comfort. Castiel liked the old language, loved his family, but had always thought he would be somewhere else by now. But here he was, more trapped than ever.

"Babička, ako si krásna."

"Oh, Castiel," the old woman laughed, and waved him away.

He closed the door behind him, and checked that it shut properly. He was satisfied that he had fixed it last weekend, but he wanted to be sure. He did not like Andela living in a house that didn't lock well. Not that anyone would dare mess with Ludvik or Gabriel's babička, nor risk the wrath of Father Michal. But Castiel did not want to take the chance.

"Castiel, you're a grown man. You can't tell your babička you love her?"

He rolled his eyes. "Hello, Hana. I did tell her."

"No. You said she was beautiful. You always say she's beautiful."

"And she is. You try to tell me Andela isn't the most beautiful woman on earth. The only person on the planet more beautiful than my sister. I'll fight you."

Hana tried not to smile at that. "I'd win."

Castiel smirked. "You would. I taught you myself."

"Where are you heading, Cas?"

"Out."

Hana's blue stare was relentless.

"Out," he said again, as if that clarified it better.

"You're supposed to be at Michal's by ten."

"Maybe I will be. You should not assume. Even the justice system pretends I'm innocent till I've done something wrong."

"You have done something wrong, Cas. That's why you have a curfew at twenty-three years old."

He winked at her. "No worries, sister of mine. I'm a perfect angel. I'm taking an art class."

He almost felt guilty for misleading her when she lit up so brightly like that. "Really? Cas, that's great! I'm so excited! You were always such a good artist!"

"Okay, don't get weird. I just study a little."

"But that's great! I can't wait to see your work!"

If Hana paid enough attention, she would notice Castiel only winked at her under specific circumstances. "Oh, you'll see it," he promised.

He thought back on this conversation as he completed his tag of the old highway bridge. He was an artist; there was no denying that. He was just the sort of artist who could be arrested for his work, that's all. So was Gandhi.

His signature was the broken halo around a black feather. He had to hide it now, but the other artists knew where to find it. His latest mural would barely be dry before the city painted over it. But by then, two dozen or more street artists would have The Angel's most recent work up all over the internet. The photographs would all have captions that would bemoan the inability to truly capture his work, and explanations of what it was like to see the detail in person. There were sites entirely dedicated to his work, collecting every image they could authenticate. Castiel did not visit them often, but he was sometimes curious as to who was claiming to be The Angel this week. He never photographed his own work. Once he had signed it, it wasn't a part of him anymore. He had no need to remember the work itself, only the emotions and techniques he had used.

Castiel had only just packed the last of his paints in his bag and zipped it securely, when the sky opened up and let loose a torrential rain. He sighed. A quick dash back to the city lights and under the shelter of an old church left him breathless and drenched, but at least his paints were dry enough. He was still far enough away from the buzz of the city to not have to worry about the cops asking about his backpack, and he could wait out the storm in this place. It was nice. It was like a tiny sanctuary on the outskirts of the city, near enough to the highway but not so close that he couldn't pretend it wasn't.

Then he heard the music.

The roar of the rain and his own panting from his run were too loud to notice it right away, but there was definitely music playing somewhere. Somewhere in this tangle of a church, just left to rot after a fire had turned it into a husk, there was the distinct sound of Led Zeppelin competing with the storm.

Castiel put his bag on both arms, and reached for his knife to keep at hand as he followed the surreal sound.

When he found its source, he took in a breath and forgot to let it out.

In the center of the burned out church, surrounded by dripping water and the halo of candlelight, was a dancer. Everything Castiel had ever known about art melted into the ground along with over a dozen red candles placed around the open floor. This was the most beautiful, most heartbreaking thing he had ever seen in his life.

He stared in awe at the man's bare chest, at his unbelievably long, strong legs. His eyes were half open, but it was as though they saw nothing, and Castiel was glad of that, since he physically could not make himself crouch down out of sight. He was torn instantly into pieces of himself. His artist's mind was frantically attempting to memorize every movement, every breath. His rebellious, tattooed, aching-for-fun side thrilled with the notion that this classically-trained dancer was improvising ballet to _Dazed and Confused_. And there was a significant portion of him who whimpered inside every time he caught an eyeful of the guy's arms.

 _Wrong_ , the last part of him scolded. _Zle!_ It was wrong of him to be watching this man without his knowledge.

Fortunately, that part of him generally got smothered by more dominant parts. He settled into a corner behind a burned pew for comfortable viewing.

Castiel indulged in his peeping for over an hour, watching the man move from classic rock to classical violin and back again, never stopping. It was as though the man had something he desperately needed to express, and could not be bothered with the rest of the world, nor did he seem to have patience for his own fatigue. Twice, Castiel saw him look at his watch, which sat on the old altar with the sorry speakers and dated MP3 player. But each time, he smiled with relief and burst back into motion with a new energy. When at last, the man reluctantly sat to stretch, and pulled his hoodie back on, he seemed sated somehow. The tiny smile etched across his face was beautiful.

Castiel held his breath as he watched the dancer pack his things and put on his shoes to go. The rain that had forced Castiel into the shelter was still coming down, but this man barely seemed to notice it. It amused Castiel that this guy could easily be mistaken for a graffiti artist, considering the way he was dressed and the bag he carried.

It occurred to him suddenly that the dancer was leaving, that he didn't know his name, or if he would be back.

But maybe the artist was less important than the work itself. Castiel should know that better than anyone. His art was incredible. He himself was a disappointing failure. So perhaps it was better this way. Let the dancer go. Castiel would come back to this place one day to see if he returned. Until then, he would walk home, and lie awake remembering.

It would be a full week of hopeful visits and nights spent sighing, before Castiel saw his dancer again.


	4. Purgatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days, it's best to let the anger out.

"Dean, no! Stop, man. Okay, stop. What are you doing right now?"

Dean wanted to punch him. That was his "I want to punch you, but I'm trying really hard not to" face. "Laundry."

"Okay, good, thank you, but..."

The older man clenched his jaw. "But?"

Sam shrugged. "But you don't have to worry about that, okay? I do all that."

Dean threw the basket to the ground. "It seems to me that you do everything! You can't...Are there days when I'm okay with that? Because this ain't one of them!"

He sighed. "No, Dean, no. You do lots of stuff. Just...not laundry, okay? Dude, there's a reason all your clothes are olive green and gray, and it has nothing to do with your accident." 

He looked down at his shirt suspiciously. "Okay. Then what?"

Sam sighed with relief. "Good. You want to help? Awesome. Kitchen needs you. Think you could clean and cook today? You feel up to that? We've been living on takeout and delivery for a week. It's getting so bad, I'm considering actually cooking."

A small smile broke over Dean's face then. "Hey, no need to threaten me. I'm on it."

While his brother moved to begin work in the kitchen, Sam leaned on the wall to watch. It was not often he had the time to let Dean take care of him. Usually, it was far less of a hassle to do things himself, but when he could stand back and supervise, both of them benefitted from letting Dean help. It raised Dean's spirits to be useful, and even if he had to be alert to potential problems, it gave Sam a break. 

"Hey, man, can you work and listen at the same time, or should I wait?"

This often depended on how much sleep Dean had gotten the night before. Focusing on two separate things at a time was difficult, but if he was well-rested and doing something familiar, he could usually keep up conversation at the same time. "Go ahead."

He nodded. "There's going to be somebody coming to visit tonight. Can you think who?"

Dean frowned at him. "A woman," he said hesitantly. 

Sam couldn't be sure if Dean knew or if he were guessing. "Yeah. Carmen. She's coming to hang out with you for a while."

He nodded slowly and continued wiping down the countertops. "She's done that before."

"Yeah. She's been coming here for a few months now, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and here and there on Sundays. She's here to help you with whatever you need, and she'll do some stuff around the apartment and whatnot."

Dean nodded again, but Sam could see his eyes filling with green anxiety. "And...she knows about me? I mean, that I'm...that I got hurt? She won't expect..."

"No, Dean, she knows. It's fine. That's why she's here, just to hang out and help you."

"But something is wrong. Your voice. Did I...do something wrong?"

He hated to hear his brother ask things like that. It never failed to chip away at what was left of his heart. "No, man. But Tuesday when she came, you got...Look, I'm going to leave the apartment while she's here, okay? I guess I forgot to tell you that on Tuesday, and you panicked."

He stared at Sam. "Why would I do that?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know, man. Some days you-you just want me here. Expect me to be here. And if you want me to stay tonight, I will. I don't have to..." His voice trailed off. 

Dean shook his head. "Have to what? Where do you go while she's here?"

For just a moment, Sam wanted to tell him. Dean would forget all about it in a few hours anyway. What was the harm?

But he looked at the glassy green stare and knew he couldn't. He couldn't tell Dean he was sneaking off to dance, to have a few hours of his old life back, a life Dean's injury had taken from him. The life Dean's stupid heroism had taken from him. 

"Just around," he mumbled. "Actually, I was thinking about seeing a movie."

"That'd be cool."

"It's a French movie."

Dean's eyes narrowed in confusion. "You mean like nudie French?"

He smiled. "Even better. It's about a mime that's secretly a cockroach."

"I-I don't get it."

"Dude, the New York Times said-"

"Who cares?"

"All right. Well...it's playing late."

Dean shook his head in bewilderment and went back to scrubbing the kitchen down. "Well? I trust you. Make good choices."

Sam laughed. "Right. You know, I mean...I don't have to go alone?"

"No, no. I'm good. I wasn't hit on the head that hard."

His brother snorted. "Yeah, okay. Carmen would be sad to miss you anyway."

"Yeah? She cute?"

With a shake of his head, Sam wandered into the hall to continue the laundry. He daydreamed as he did so. It was hard not to lose himself in dreams for most of the day. He and Dean lived the same days over and over, week in and week out. Dean had about ten different days that got recycled. Sam figured they were almost due for a rage day. It had been a while, and Dean had been in a surprisingly good mood for a few weeks.

Rage days were painful and cathartic at the same time. Sometimes Sam tried to ease Dean's frustration and anger, but other days, he joined in. He was angry too. For that matter? He was angrier. But he never let it out unless Dean needed to. On those days, Dean wanted the whole story and would accept nothing less. He wanted to know why he should let Sam help him, why he couldn't call Dad, why Bobby's number led him to a recording, why the hell Sam had left school. Ironically, these were the days when Dean was at his sharpest. About a month ago, Dean had begun his tirade, and for once it was not him throwing the first punch.

"What the hell, Sam?" he roared. "So I get myself fucked up, and then you go and quit school, quit everything we worked so hard for? What were you thinking? You put me in a goddamn nut house, and you get on with your life! What's wrong with you?"

Sam had been so angry that the whole world went red before he felt his hand collide with Dean's face. It had surprised his brother so badly that he had gone down with a crash and before he could leap up, Sam had dropped all his weight onto the man, flattening him to the ground, and holding him there with a knee in his back. It was a move Dean had taught him, and it filled him with a perverse thrill to use it against him. 

"What's wrong with me?" he screamed back. Tears etched streaks down his face. "What's wrong with me? My goddamn brother was a fucking hero, you bastard! My damn brother tried to talk a guy out of shooting a guy and his kid in a gas stop, and took a bullet in the fucking skull for it! My damn brother put himself between a kid and a gun, and I gave up my life because it turns out you didn't!"

Dean threw him off of him, but simply sat in front of him, gasping for breath and fighting for calm. "So do it now!" he shouted. "Finish the job, or let me, and you can get your life back!"

Sam had laughed. It haunted him weeks later, the sound of his own mad laughter at the suggestion. "Are you kidding? Dean, in a half hour, you'll forget we even had this fight! You won't even know three hours later whether you ate breakfast, let alone that you said that to me! I'm the one that's got to hear this and remember it! Tonight, when you sleep, or tomorrow night maybe, you'll reset to factory settings, and you'll wake up completely lost!"

"Then leave me the fuck behind!" Dean screamed. 

"Don't you pretend like I can get back what I had ripped from me. I lost everything when you saved that kid. I lost me, and I lost you. It's too late to get any of it back. Don't you get it? This Purgatory? It's forever. And we're in it together till the end. Some kid is growing up right now, getting a life he wouldn't have if it weren't for you. And you and me, we're stuck in this Purgatory till the end. Our happiness for that kid's life? It's no contest, Dean. You're a fucking hero. And it's my job to take care of you. I'm not leaving you behind, not ever. You'd never leave me."

Dean's tears were filled with anger and shame, and Sam hated it. He hated the self-loathing on his brother's face, and he hated himself for giving in to the rage. Finally, Dean croaked out his answer. "That's because you're everything to me. But it isn't right this way. You had a future, Sammy. Dad didn't like it, but screw him. I was so freaking proud of you, man. I can't know that you gave that up to be my nurse. I can't live with that."

Sam sighed. The anger had drained from him, and all that was left was weariness, bone deep. "You won't," he whispered with a humorless laugh. "You won't, Dean, that's the point. You'll forget about it in no time. This conversation, this fight? It'll never have happened for you. And you'll forget this too, but I'm going to say it anyway."

The green eyes narrowed as the older man choked on sobs. 

"Dean, you aren't just that kid's hero, or his family's. You're my hero, man. You stepped in front of that kid like I know you would have stepped in front of me. The guy made him get up on the counter. He was sitting on the counter, scared to death, and his dad was trying to get the money for the guy fast enough, but I guess the guy panicked and you knew what was going to happen. Dean, you knew. You knew he was going to pull the trigger. You had tried to talk him into putting the gun down and leaving, and when it was clear the guy was going to shoot the kid, you stepped in front of him. Some kid you didn't know. It's what you would have done for me."

"'Course I'd do it for you, Sammy!"

He nodded with a small, tired smile. "And that's why I ain't leaving you now, man. You would give your life for me without any hesitation. How could I not give mine for you?" 

Sam remembered the explanation. Of course, Dean didn't. But it didn't matter. It was still true. Dean was the man Sam wanted to be. And Dean would have given everything for Sam. Leaving Dean behind in a facility somewhere just wasn't an option. 

That's what John had done. And John wasn't the man Sam wanted to be.


	5. Tribute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is territorial.

The first time Sam realized someone else had been in his church, he was mortified, and not a little angry. This was his sanctuary. He wasn't bothering anyone. Why couldn't whoever this was find his own space? Sam was stubborn. He was not going to be forced out of this tiny hole that lead to his old life. He deserved the time and space to dance, and he was going to take it. After months of feeling guilty, of Carmen practically kicking him out of the apartment, Sam was determined to keep what he saw as his.

This graffiti artist, whoever he was, could find his own burned out church.

The first mural had appeared on the wall near the altar, and Sam had simply stared at it in horror. He had never been inclined toward two dimensional art in general; it was too static. But as he placed his things on the altar and looked closer, he realized that this vandal had created a tribute to the church itself, had painted what it must have looked like in its prime. It was abstract, and there was a broken halo and black feather that seemed like an odd choice, but Sam could see it was extremely good. He still didn't like it, and he ignored it as well as he could while he danced.

The second time a piece appeared, it was less of a shock, but still an annoyance. He analyzed the image, found it to be far too abstract an interpretation of musical emotion, and dismissed it with a huff. He danced with his eyes closed most of that night.

The third time, Sam was officially freaked out. This time, the altar itself had been painted, and it was clearly a dancer's shoe. He frowned severely at it. Either that was an impossible coincidence or...could someone have seen him?

He noted the symbol in each of the three pieces, and realized it must be the artist's signature. Sam had taken courses in art appreciation, since they were required of first year dancers. He wondered what his professors would have thought of this. He tried to analyze the work like they would have. It was complex, certainly, especially considering the guy was using spray paint as his tool, and stone and wood as his canvas. The detail was incredible.

But it was a dancer's shoe.

He looked up at the second piece, explored the way the colors whipped around the musical notes, like a flurry of activity. Everywhere, the colors were joyful and frantic, except for one color. Sam looked more carefully. The green had another personality entirely. It was weighing down the other colors which were struggling to rise above it. Everywhere the blues and pinks and yellows flew up, the green pushed back down. It was intoxicating to let his eyes follow the colors, to let them explore the various personalities each one had to offer. The purple seemed to spiral up, through the green, through the weight, to reach for the musical notes above.

Inspiration claimed him, and he prepared to dance. He stared at the painting as he finally turned on his music and began to move. Instead of resenting the art which had encroached upon his own, he combined the two. He took his lead from each of the colors, dancing as he felt the shy, timid blue might, bursting forth with joy like the bold yellow, and letting the pinks carry him across the floor in stuttered grace, a staccato of hue against the music. He allowed the green to drag him into the depths, then, finally, he threw himself into that unbroken purple, the one that seemed to push beyond the sorrow of the green, to fly to heights the others could not manage. His strong legs lifted him and obeyed his heart and the music, while his arms, chest and toes lead the way. His eyes slipped closed, and yet the colors were burned onto his lids, and there was no need to see them anymore. The whirl of stained emotion around the musical notes was like a windstorm and a battle, all at once. It was exhilarating.

And exhausting.

Before Sam knew it, his watch alarm was going off. It was time to get back to the apartment. Carmen would be there until two, but if Sam wanted to shower and get enough sleep before beginning his shift in the morning, he needed to go back now.

He sighed up at the mural. "Next time," he promised softly.

But the next Tuesday brought Dean a fever, and he wasn't able to sneak away. Dean was not often sick, but when he was, he had to have Sam. No one else would do. He was frightened, disoriented and frustrated, and the only person who made any of that better was Sam.

Thursday, Sam slipped away the minute Carmen walked in. He jogged his whole way to the church. When he got there, he took in a deep breath at what he saw.

Across the length of a burned out pew against the wall, the image of a man's arm was painted in vivid detail. The palm was up, held in a beautiful, strong gesture. Muscles coiled up the arm in ropes. And there on the tricep was the scar Sam had carried with him since he had fallen as a child. It was Sam's strong arm.

"Are you here?" he whispered.

There was no response.

Sam turned and received his next shock. On the wall behind him were two large, hazel-green eyes, staring down at him as if he were looking into a mirror.

He sucked in a sharp breath. How had someone gotten close enough to see his eyes, to see that small scar, without him knowing? And why would that person then use the information for...for this?

Sam chewed on his lip. Should he go? Run away from this creepy tribute? Or should he keep going in this phantom of the opera setting as if nothing had changed?

"Hello!" he called, but his own voice was all he could hear. His hands were sweating as he lay down his things. "Well...whoever you are...I came to dance. I don't know what you came for."

"I came to watch."

He dropped his shoes on the floor and turned in a graceless whirl to find himself face to face with his artist.


	6. Meet & Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

Castiel's heart was racing so fast that he was becoming lightheaded. Or maybe that was simply the proximity to the eyes and arms and sheer beauty he had dreamed about. He listened to his voice inside his own head before speaking aloud. He was so flustered he was afraid it might come out in Slovak. 

"I'll leave if you want me to. But before I go? I brought you some good portable speakers."

Gabriel had acquired the best ones on the market for him, taking it as a personal challenge when Castiel had told him how little money he could spend. Most things from Gabriel came with a rubbed out serial number. 

The dancer stared at him. "How long have you been watching me?"

Castiel shrugged. He had not planned on a confrontation. In an ideal world, he would simply be an invisible spectator to this man forever. And he likely could have. Castiel had a talent for hiding in plain sight. He had spent most of his life honing this skill, which enabled him to observe without being observed. But something in the voice had drawn him out. 

"I don't...I'm sorry," he murmured. He felt the thumb and fingers of his left hand kneading the palm of his right. When he sketched or used charcoal, his hands throbbed badly when he was done, and massaging them out had become something of a nervous habit. It came when his hands were itching to do something they couldn't, like continue a creation. Or touch a dancer. 

The man before him frowned at him. "How long?"

"A few weeks. Since the night of the bad storm."

The wonderful storm. The glorious, wonderful storm that would paint his dreams in purples the rest of his life. 

The dancer nodded slowly. "Why didn't you just say something?"

Castiel snorted softly. "Yeah? I'm sure you wouldn't have minded some creepy tatted Slovak hood coming to get his free admission, right?"

The hazel eyes watched him another moment, then a decision seemed to be made. "I'm Sam. Do you have a name, or should I call you some creepy tatted Slovak hood?"

He narrowed his own eyes in suspicion. 

Sam sighed. "Look, you're definitely creepy. But you're also incredibly talented. And if I'm going to be able to keep using this space that clearly neither of us are supposed to be in, I need to know if you're socially awkward creepy or serial killer creepy."

A slow smile registered on Castiel's face. "My name is Castiel Bojovník. I'm an artist and a disappointment."

"Ah. Well, I'm Sam Winchester. I'm a dancer and a dropout."

When their hands met, Castiel couldn't help closing his left over their rights. "You are an incredible dancer, Sam."

"And you are an exceptionally talented stalker."

A hot flush crossed his face, and he released Sam's hand. "Well, like I said. I got you some good speakers. Yours suck. And I'll leave if you want me to."

Sam considered for nearly a full minute. In this time, Castiel took advantage of the ability to stare at his face, to memorize his gorgeous throat. "I haven't danced with an audience for years," Sam finally said. Then he scowled. "Not knowingly."

Castiel sighed. "I'll go. I...It was...I shouldn't have..."

"No," Sam said softly. "You shouldn't have. And I'm not sure I can deal with an audience exactly. But..."

He tried to keep his gaze down, tried not to look hopeful. 

"But do you have your supplies with you? You could do your thing while I do mine. Share studio space, as it were."

If Hana saw him right now, she would not have recognized the goofy grin on his face.


	7. Šariš and Halušky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even artists have to eat.

Castiel's background was in fine arts and cat burglary. In all things, he was detailed and focused, with perfect discipline.

On the other hand, it was difficult to concentrate when a man, whose arms and throat were his bedtime stories, was dancing to Hozier right behind him. Inevitably, every piece in the church became Sam. No matter how abstract, it was Sam. It was increasingly, painfully clear that there would never be an inspiration to equal him. When he had seen Sam use his second mural as choreography, so brilliantly becoming each of the flourishes of color on the wall, Castiel's breath had stopped, his mouth had gone dry, and he thought this was the moment he wanted to live in the rest of his life.

But the world had kept spinning, and Castiel with it, so there was nothing to do but continue to paint. He adjusted for the burnt and rotting wood, and purchased new materials with his meager art allowance.

Castiel's day job was interior house painting. It was dull, but he was good at it. He got impatient with the way every homeowner wanted a variation of off-white as their main color. The few times he had tried to talk them into a more elegant or rich tone, his co-workers had been irritated with him. So he had bought his spray paint and kept his opinions to himself. It was a lost cause anyway. The world was filled with white walls and no imagination to correct them.

But then there was Sam Winchester. Sam freaking Winchester. He was gorgeous, and athletic, and so smart it was breathtaking. He felt like he could breathe with Sam, unlike every other person in the world, even dear Andela. Sam saw life and the world just as he did, as so beautiful it felt sharp, and Sam saw other people just as he did, as missing the entire point.

Castiel had never met anyone like him.

On their third encounter, Castiel brought Krušovice and Šariš in a cooler. The halušky Andela made was neatly packed into containers. He drank a Šariš while he worked, and another while he leaned on the wall and watched Sam. When the man finally lowered himself to stretch, Castiel took a deep breath and plunged in.

"Dancers eat, I assume."

Sam glanced at him. It was the first time either of them had spoken that night. Other than their introductions, and a few shy words about how strange it was to do their work in front of one another, they had not spoken much at all.

"I mean, don't they?"

The other man smiled softly.

The tension Sam's shoulders had carried in had melted out over the floor. That was the subject of Castiel's piece today, the way all the gray and green poured off of the dancer and pooled at his feet while other, warmer tones filled and radiated from him.

"Yeah. We eat. We eat a ton."

"So...you had asked about...when I was cursing..." He felt his face heating up.

Sam laughed. "When you were muttering under your breath in Slovak on Tuesday?"

"Right. Well, I brought some halušky. It's...it's like our taco. I mean, it's not a taco. But it's like a standard kind of food. It's...it's good. My babička Andela, she makes them. I mean, I make them, but these are hers. You might hate them. But you should try them. It's bryndzové halušky. My cousin Gabriel gets the bryndzové when his contact back home visits. You can use feta or something, but it isn't the same..." He was rambling, he realized. He snapped his mouth shut.

But Sam was still smiling at him. "So it's a cheese."

"Um...yes."

"And it's kind of special to have it. Not something you can always get."

He narrowed his eyes. He wondered what Sam was getting at. "Yeah. I mean, halušky, that's not a big deal. Just potato. But the...yes, it's a special kind. Not there, but here, it's hard to get, even in my neighborhood. Which is why Gabriel gets it. He specializes in things that are...hard to come by."

"But you're willing to share it with me?"

His blush was beginning to reach his throat. "I thought you might like to try it. I brought beer too. Which I apparently haven't had nearly enough of," he muttered.

The lips curled into a smirk. But Sam let it go. "So it's Czech?"

Castiel shrugged a little. "No. It's Slovak. But in America, we get lumped together. The neighborhood where I live, there are a handful of Czechs, but they speak Slovak, because their family lived in Slovakia most recently. And the rest of the city calls us all Czech-Americans, because they don't know better. Most of you think there's still a Czechoslovakia." When he realized he was giving Sam a lecture, both academically and in the sense of scolding, he shut his mouth again. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I mean, it's Slovak."

He was being laughed at. But Sam was doing an admirable job of keeping his amusement only in his eyes. "I see. You gonna feed me, professor?"

Castiel busied himself by looking through his smaller cooler, and was glad to be able to look away from Sam's handsome face. "These should still be plenty warm."

"Potatoes, you said."

"Have you ever had gnocchi?"

"No."

The blue eyes rolled. "How can you be an artist if you don't try things to expand your palette?"

"Was that a play on words?"

He blinked. "What?"

Sam laughed. "I'm sorry. Go on."

"They're dumplings. Just...put it in your mouth and chew, jackass."

This was met with another burst of generous laughter, and Castiel could not help smiling at the sound.

He served them each a bowl, and set two beers in front of Sam. "Tell me which you prefer."

Sam did a taste test, and took it far more seriously than Castiel had expected him to. It pleased him the way Sam concentrated on each sip. It did not hurt that it gave Castiel time to watch the dancer up close.

"Well?"

"I like them both. But this one is better."

Castiel grinned triumphantly as Sam held up the Šariš. "Vynikajuće!" he laughed. "That's a Slovak beer. The other is Czech. It's good, but the Slovak is better."

Sam chuckled. "I feel like I just passed a test."

He beamed at him. "Of course not! Both are good, but you might have liked neither. It's my Šariš that passed the test, and I'm proud of it."

They laughed together, and it was incredible to Castiel just how easy that was. He had just met the man but they got along so beautifully. He swelled with pride when Sam expressed appreciation for the halušky. Neither of them utilized words as their art form, and they both snickered ruefully at their inability to describe the food. Castiel settled for telling Sam how it was made. They shared stories, Castiel of time spent in Andela's kitchen as a boy, and Sam of his disastrous attempts at cooking for himself.

"Cas?" Sam said finally. "Thank you for this. I don't remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much. The food is good, the beer is good, and I'm surrounded by color. I can't...It's nice. So thank you."

Castiel felt his heart leap in pleasure. He stared down at his own tattooed arms before responding shyly. "I don't...talk to anybody much. I mean, I work all day with a bunch of guys, but I don't say much. Just do my work and go. I have more conversation with the work itself than I do with the guys I work with. Boss still calls me the Russian kid."

Sam snorted.

"Yeah. And there are some good guys, but it's day work, you know? You're hired for the day or for the job, which could be two days or two weeks, but then a lot of the guys move on. So you don't bother getting to know each other real well. And I don't talk to anyone else, even family so much."

The hazel eyes were on him, intense and searching. "I know what you mean. I work from home, on the computer, and I talk to clients all day, but I'm not really talking to them. I'm fixing their problems. Only one I ever talk to..."

Castiel frowned as Sam's voice faded out. He watched as the man's tension came back to his shoulders fractionally.

Then Sam smiled again and swallowed the last of his beer. "Family, like you. So it's nice to meet another artist."

"I thought you might punch me when we first met."

The laugh was back, and Sam relaxed again. "I still might. There's just one of these things left. I'll fight you for it."

It was just what he would have said to Hana. He smiled brightly. "I'll give you the last bit of halušky if you tell me why you didn't punch me a week ago."

Sam shrugged. He stabbed at the dumpling with his fork and lifted it to his lips. He ate in silence for a moment before responding. "I was more curious than I was freaked out. And after talking to you, I thought maybe you were more curious than you were freaky."

Castiel's blush was relentless. "And...do you think this will work? Sharing space like this?"

"It seems to," Sam said lightly. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to seeing what you painted this time."

A stab of pleasure spiked through Castiel's racing heart. "And your verdict?"

Sam looked up at the latest whirlwind of hues. "It's sad."

Castiel's eyes widened, and he turned to see his own work. "What? Sad?"

The other man stared at it, mesmerized. "Yeah. The bird emerging from the negativity. It's coming from him. No matter how much positive energy he puts out, that negative stuff will still be a part of him. He can't fly forever. When he lands again, it will be on the ground waiting for him."

Castiel looked at his own work with the eyes of a stranger and realized Sam had found a layer he never intended, but was clearly there nonetheless.

Sam was shaking his head. "Whatever that bird is trying to shed is just going to be there waiting for him to fall back to earth."

Castiel wanted to put his inked arms around his dancer, to explain to him that the bird will be all right, that the bird is strong and smart and so graceful, that he will be just fine. But instead, he shrugged his shoulders and opened another beer.

"At least he gets a few minutes unburdened."

Sam smiled suddenly. "I'm sure that the promise of those few minutes keep him going."

Castiel smiled too. For him, the promise of seeing Sam was what kept him going throughout the week.


	8. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back home, something is not quite the same.

Carmen was doing some laundry and Dean was washing dishes when Sam floated in. He stared at them. "What's up, guys? It's like one in the morning."

She shrugged and smiled at him. "He doesn't want to sleep."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother. "You chose dishes over sleep? What's wrong with you?"

"Got shot in the head, apparently," Dean said dismissively.

He shook his head in wonder. "I don't get you. How do you joke about that? It was horrible!"

Dean looked up from his sink. For a moment, he was clearly the same guy Sam had grown up with. "You're right. Come here. I want to lay my head on your shoulder, cry a little bit. Maybe slow dance."

Carmen giggled from the hallway. "He's been like this all night," she reported. "We took a walk earlier and he had an argument with a terrier."

"I didn't like the way it was looking at me."

But for just an instant, Sam saw the way Carmen was looking at Dean, and he frowned quietly.

"Where you been, kiddo?"

Sam shook himself as Carmen returned to folding towels. "Just out. So other than a stressful terrier, you had a good night?"

"Carmen wouldn't let me drink liquor."

"You're pouting, Winchester," Carmen sang out.

"We don't even have any-"

Dean was smirking at him.

"Goddammit, Dean, stay out of my room! Do I need to throw away my toothbrush too?"

"Of course not. I'm an adult."

Sam made a mental note to throw away his toothbrush and replace his pillowcase. "Well, I've got to be plugged in by eight tomorrow because of the maintenance we're scheduled to do on the east coast. So I'm going to bed. Dean, we like Carmen, so try not to be an asshole."

She laughed again, and Dean winked at her. "I don't know her well, Sammy, but I think she can handle herself. She hasn't let me get away with anything all night."

"Good. I'd hate to have to kick your ass for offending the only nurse willing to see you with your clothes on."

Dean simply began chanting the words to Immigrant Song, and Sam could hear Carmen join in as he retreated to his own space.

He was lying wide awake in the dark an hour later when the bedroom door opened. He sighed. He was about to ask Dean if he needed help, when an enormous weight pounded into the bed next to him.

Dean laughed at his cursing. "So? What's going on with my bitchy martyr?"

"Well, I'm not sleeping. That's one thing. Get off."

"You weren't sleeping before. Spill."

"What do you care?"

He could feel the shrug, and Dean lay flat on his back, with his arms behind his head.

Sam could not help the smile that seemed to warm his whole body. Dean was needier, but less affectionate than he had been before his accident. Because he already felt vulnerable, the older man generally refused any contact that he did not deem necessary. As obnoxious as Dean was when he dealt it out, Sam was always grateful to feel like the little brother again.

"Something happened today. I don't know what happened yesterday, but I know something different happened today."

Sam was glad it was too dark to see one another. There was no way he could talk about this if he had to see Dean to do it. "I may have...had dinner with somebody."

Dean was very still, as if he worried about frightening Sam away with movement, which Sam had to admit was probably warranted. "Hell of a dinner," he said quietly. "You came in past midnight."

"Yeah, why aren't you asleep?"

"Because I won't remember to ask you about your night in the morning. And I want you to tell me."

The simplicity and bluntness of the statement crashed mercilessly into Sam's heart. "Jesus, Dean."

The voice was quiet, but there was a sense of determination in it. "Look. It isn't right. But it's what I can do. It's the kind of big brother I can be, so I need to at least be that. I talked to Carmen tonight. And I found Bobby's real phone number. That's why I was in your bedroom. So I made him man up and talk to me. Apparently I can't hold a job, even a stupid one, because we can't predict when my memories will reset. I can't even handle cooking some days, I guess. And because of me, you're cooped up in here all day every day, unless Carmen is here, working a job you hate, and I know it's got to be lonely."

Emotion was eating at Sam's stomach. He could not believe how rational and calm Dean was. "It's not what we planned, man, but it's our life now, and it's what I want. You're my brother, man. And you'd do it for me without a bit of hesitation."

"Yeah. I would. Because I'm a kickass brother. So tell me about your dinner, since I may forget but you won't."

Gratitude swept over Sam then. Dean periodically had days when he tried to redeem his role as protector of his kid brother. But this was the first time in two years that Sam felt this might work. "So...I tell you all my shit and you forget about it by tomorrow?"

"It's just like old times," Dean teased quietly.

Sam elbowed him in the side and laughed. "Yeah. Okay. Um...but do you really want to hear this crap?"

"Sam. Tick tick."

He felt a flush cross his cheeks. "Right. Okay. Just this once."

"Sure," he responded. "Tell me about dinner."

Sam smiled up at the ceiling. "It wasn't meant to be dinner. I mean...I can't believe I'm telling you this."

"Is it a guy?"

"Yeah."

"Keep going. He got a name?"

"Castiel."

Dean snorted. "What the hell kind of name is that?"

Sam laughed again, and it sounded too much like giggling to him. "Dude, I can't do this while you're right there. Move. Sit on the chair."

"You sit on the chair, asshat. I'm comfortable."

"It's my bed!"

"Not while I'm on it."

It was so Dean. It was so completely Dean that Sam couldn't help grinning as he lifted himself to sit at his desk chair. He threw a leg over it, straddled it backward, and perched with his arms folded over the back. He put his chin on his arm.

"Okay. A little less princess pony sleepover. But that doesn't get you out of telling me about your pretty boyfriend."

Sam huffed in amusement. "He is pretty," he sighed finally.

"I bet."

"Castiel Bojovník."

"That's made up."

"It is not. It's Slovak. Shut up. He's an artist. And I...I ran into him...while he was painting."

"How did that happen?"

Sam smiled to himself in the dark. "He's a street artist," he said vaguely. "He's a little bit punk, but he's also really shy." He snickered. "Like, stupidly shy."

"You can be shy too," Dean said in a low voice.

It surprised Sam that there was caution in Dean's words but no judgement. He nodded. "Yeah. But this guy...Anyway, I watched him work a few nights, on Thursday and again on Tuesday. And when I went again today..." His eyes slid closed. He knew Dean couldn't see him anyway. He wanted to remember the tastes and smells and colors of the evening in the old church.

"When you went today?" Dean prompted.

"He had brought dinner to share with me. Czech and Slovakian beers and a traditional dish his grandmother made. It was..." He glanced up at Dean in the dark, and hoped he wouldn't offend him. "It was the nicest night I've had in a really long time."

Dean was quiet. Sam could not tell if he was hurt by that statement, or simply thinking it over.

"I mean, I like hanging out here. It's not like-"

"Sammy. Don't do that. Don't pretend like you aren't allowed to go out and meet people. I want you to. And I know it isn't easy for you, so you should know...I'm proud of you for doing it."

No matter what their roles were, no matter what responsibility Sam had undertaken, those words would always mean the world to him. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.

"So? You seeing him again?"

"I-I guess. I mean, not till Tuesday. But that's okay. I kind of like the idea of anticipating it all weekend. Is that stupid?"

Dean quietly laughed and sat up. "No. Just wish I could anticipate it with you."

He started to say that it was all right. But instead, he chewed his lip for a moment, and responded, "So do I."

Dean clapped him on the back on his way to the door. Then he stopped, and without looking back, he said, "Keep talking to me, Sammy. I want you to talk to me. It's all I can do, maybe, but we both need it. We're brothers, man, and I want to be here for you. No matter what I remember in the morning, that won't change." The door closed behind him just as Sam's first tear fell.

***

Carmen looked up. "So?"

Dean was smiling at her. "So he's good. You still want to help me?"

She reached out and took his hand to squeeze it. "Of course I do."

He nodded and led her to a small desk in his bedroom. "Do we have what you need?"

She pulled out her notebook and pen to show him.

He took a deep breath. "Okay. Good."

When they finished around three thirty, Dean took her hand again. She smiled at him kindly.

"Thank you for this. Reading ain't easy, but writing...I just can't. I don't know how many times I've tried. But I know I wouldn't have ever asked Sam for it, and who else is there?"

Carmen placed the small notebook back in her bag. "Well, I'm part of your life now. So a few times a week, we'll work on it."

She could hear the fear in his voice. "I won't know you on Tuesday, will I?"

She heaved a sigh. "No. But I'll know you. And I'm more than your nurse, Dean. I'm your friend. I've been off the clock since two, you know. So even if something were to happen and I didn't work for your brother anymore...We'll keep going with this no matter what, okay? You're a good man, Dean, and you've got a good heart. You're a complete jackass some days, but I can deal with that."

He snorted. "I appreciate that."

"So we'll meet each other again on Tuesday, and we'll keep working on your project, and maybe it will make things better for you somehow. If nothing else, it's nice to just be friends."

"Is that ethical?" he teased.

But she could hear his anxiety, so she gave him a smile. "I'm a damn good nurse, Dean. If I thought we were doing anything wrong, I'd quit. You're my patient, sixteen hours a week. As long as we keep things rated G, as long as it's not romantic or sexual, there's nothing wrong with me helping you in my off hours too."

"Thank you. I really...wish I could remember you each time."

"I know you do. But if you could, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

He shrugged sadly. "I guess not."

She put her hand on his arm. "Dean, you are a good man. It would be impossible for me to not care about you. Don't worry about anything else. I want to help you help your brother. And I know you well enough to know that's always going to be your first priority."

He gave her a tight smile. "We'll meet again Tuesday. When we do, remind me that I owe you."

"Sure," she said lightly, and turned to let herself out of the apartment. On Tuesday, she would say nothing of the sort.


	9. Many Strokes to Fell an Oak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The way to a boy's heart is through trdelník.

Andela was up and cooking on Saturday morning before Castiel arrived. She stood on her toes and kissed his forehead without a word.

"Babička, how can I help you?" he murmured in Slovak.

She patted his cheek softly, and turned back to her work. "Castiel, my love. Always how can you help me. You're a good boy."

He smiled at her. "Thank you, Babička."

"And you remind me so much of your father."

Now the smile slipped into a confused frown. "What? Why?"

"Your father. Always asking how he can help. Always happy to do anything for another, so long as it doesn't require you to say anything."

He stared at her. "I-I'm sorry, Babička. What did you want me to say?" The mere notion that he had neglected her in some way made his breath run shallow. The thought that he reminded her of her absent son bothered him just as much. "Just tell me what to say. I'm not my father, Babička. I would never leave you like he did."

"Family is important, my love."

"Yes, I know." A ball of frustration weighed heavily in his stomach. "Babička, did I do something wrong?"

"It is important that you talk to old Andela."

He watched her move about the kitchen, with the same confidence and hypnotic grace Sam used while dancing in the church. She did not look back at him. "Of course," he muttered. "Whatever you want. Can I be helping you somehow, Babička?"

"No. Sit and talk."

A tiny flame of panic heated his face. "Why? Is something wrong? Andela, I've been good. I haven't gotten into any more trouble. I promise!"

The old woman huffed at him. "You have colored hair and rings in your ears," she said dryly. At last, she turned to him with her hands on her hips. "You wear nothing but black and denim and leather. I would like the police to take you just for that."

Some of his tension left him as he laughed at her exasperation. His hair had gone from dark to tipped blond at three in the morning on Friday when he had been unable to sleep after his dinner with Sam. Michal had been horrified upon seeing him in daylight, and that had been worth it by itself. "You know you would just have to ask me, and I'd take out the piercings, wash out the dye and put on a suit like Gabriel or a collar like Michal."

She snorted. "You are far more an angel than any of your cousins, including Father Michal. No matter how many tattoos you have."

He snickered to himself. "An angel, Andela? A poor excuse for one." He approached and kissed the top of her head. "You and Hana are the only angels in this family."

She swatted at him. "No, Castiel. You are trying to distract me. Sit and talk. I have breakfast for you." She set a plate in front of him at the table, and crossed her arms until he surrendered with a sigh.

"Lokše and trdelník," he murmured. "Why do I deserve lokše, let alone trdelník? Or do you have something that terrible to tell me?"

Andela laughed, lowering herself to sit beside him. "I am not the one who will be talking, Castiel. You have something to tell me. And pancakes, pastry and milk are just my bribe."

Castiel stared at her, wondering suddenly if she could possibly know how much she meant to him. Hana was right. He never seemed to be able to say it. The closest he came was telling her she was beautiful and asking how he could help her. Nothing else would work its way off his tongue. Nothing else was adequate. "Andela, you could refuse me while I starved, and I would still do anything you wanted me to do for you. You never need to go to any trouble for me. I can take care of myself."

"Yes, my love, I know. And so tell me why you needed extra of my halušky Thursday night, even though I know you can make it yourself if you want it?"

His eyes widened. "Yours is better than mine," he blurted out in surprise.

"Only just, and only because I have fifty years experience over you. And you eat it for breakfast, Castiel. I know you didn't because you were here at dawn Friday to fix my gate before you went to work. So? You took it for someone else."

"Lots of people eat it for dinner," he protested quietly.

"And who, Castiel, who shared with you? Not your cousins."

He sighed. Suddenly, the lovely food in front of him was making him feel ill. "Babička, please," he whimpered.

"No. No please. I want to know." She raised an eyebrow. "Shall I tell Hana and let her interrogate you, or will you tell me now?"

Castiel rested his forehead on his palm. "Sam," he breathed. "I brought some to Sam."

Her eyes lit up in triumph. "Ah! Is Sam a nice boy? You don't need a troublemaker, Castiel."

"No, no, he...he's a dancer, babička. He's just a dancer. A guy I met a week or two back. He doesn't matter." He shoved a forkful of trdelník in his mouth, hoping Andela would be happy enough with this explanation.

But her blue eyes watched him with patience. "He matters to my angel Castiel. You wouldn't have brought him old Andela's halušky if he didn't matter."

"It's my favorite." He smiled shakily. "Except trdelník. But I didn't think I'd get my hands on any of that anytime soon."

"Because you will never ask for it. Castiel, I will make it for you if you only ask."

He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and he could feel a hollow desperation pouring from him. It was the same feeling he got when he wanted to tell her he loved her. "I can't ask, babička. You know that. I'm sorry."

She sighed and put her hand on his cheek again. He leaned into her soft palm gently. "I know, my love. And that worries me. This boy, this Sam. Is he...someone who can love my angel?"

Castiel winced sharply. "No! No, babička. I mean, yes, to what you're asking. But no." His Slovak was faltering, and he stammered in English. "He's gay, I think. He can love men, babička. I know that's what you mean. But...not me." His stomach was churning, and he thought he might be sick. He stumbled back into Slovak. "Andela, no. Not me. Another man, yes, but not me."

She nodded very slowly. "Why?"

His breathing was stuttered, and his hands were shaking, so he put his fork down, cringing at the way it clanked against his plate. "Because...because it's me, Andela! Because it's me. He's just a friend, babička, and I'm glad of that. I don't need anything more than that, not from anyone. I can take care of myself."

His grandmother shook her head at him. "You have had to, Castiel, your whole life. At least Hana had you. Who did you have, my love?"

"You, Andela!" he cried in disbelief. "It's always been you, from the moment my dad left and never came back. Even before that, when I was little. You're the only saint in the world who could love a burnout like me. A disappointment like me. I've never been what you wanted me to be, never what he would have wanted me to be. I don't know why you don't give up on me, Andela. Maybe for Hana's sake. She thinks I'm a better man than I am. Sam? Something as beautiful and good as Sam, or you and Hana, I'm nothing next to you."

"No, Castiel!" she cried in despair. "No, you should be loved too, Castiel."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Andela, I don't mean to upset you." Shame and humiliation dripped from his voice, and he hated himself for it. "Don't worry about me, please. I never want to be the one you worry about. I don't want you to even give me a thought unless it's to think of a way I can help you. You've done too much for me, Andela, and I've done nothing in return but break your heart. Please. I can't stand knowing that I'm upsetting you."

The old woman sighed heavily and shook her head. "My poor angel Castiel."

"I'm not an angel, babička. And the more you pretend I am, the more it's going to hurt every time I let you down." Castiel would not let her see him break into tears. But inside, he was dying a little.

Andela was everything to him. Hana did not need him anymore. She was grown and he had taught her to take care of herself so well that she would never need him again. He was not her big brother anymore. They were barely even friends. Hana was just someone who cared enough for Castiel to still disappoint. Andela, though. He had hoped that he could balance things out with Andela, that he could take care of her to somehow return the care she had given him all these years. But here he was, making her regret loving him, hurting her, and he couldn't stand it.

"Castiel, you didn't tell me if he liked my halušky."

He lifted his head in surprise. "Of-of course he did! He isn't Slovak, babička. He's never had it. And he liked it so much he took a second bowl." Castiel laughed a little through the sob stuck in his throat. "That was meant for my breakfast Friday, but I was so happy he liked it."

Andela sat back with satisfaction. "Castiel, you let this boy love you."

"No, babička, please. He will never want me like that. You misunderstand. Maybe my Slovak has gotten lazy."

She shook her head stubbornly. "I understand perfectly well, Castiel Bojovník. You are like your father."

He flinched.

"You make people love you, then you run away from their love. You did so with your little sister."

His blue eyes widened with horror. "No! Babička, no! I will always be there for Hana! I'm not my father!"

"You are here, but not here. You give everything but take nothing. You cannot do that with this boy. You have to let him love you."

At last, the tears spilled over, and he collapsed into his hands. He could feel Andela's hand rubbing circles on his back, like she had done when he was a child and could not sleep. Gradually, her voice reached him.

"My Castiel. My angel. You work so hard to push everyone away from you. You dress and act so that no one will come close, and if they do, you fight. You want old Andela to stop caring so much because you think I will be hurt if I love you. You think I'm wrong to love you, because you think you aren't worth loving. You would rather no one cared than risk letting us down. But that means you will never have anything for yourself, Castiel."

"Andela," he moaned.

"Shh, Castiel. Trdelník takes effort. So you sit and listen to old Andela until she says her piece. _Ani strom naraz zotnú, Castiel_."

The way she said it made him look at her through his hands. "Yes, ma'am."

"You know what this means?"

"Yes, babička," he murmured, though he knew she would explain it anyway.

"It takes many tries, Castiel, before you can succeed. You make it so much harder when you give up. You are so afraid to fail that you will not try. You are strong, Castiel. You are so smart, so much smarter than anyone else in this family. You are talented. But you are so afraid of failing me, your sister, of not being what you imagine your father wanted, that you would rather we never saw you try."

"I'm so sorry, babička," he whispered.

"Castiel, don't you understand? No one expects you to succeed on the first try. It takes many, many failures to succeed at anything worth doing well. Do you think the first time I made trdelník, I was brilliant at it? No! I nearly caught myself on fire!"

A surprised laugh burst out of him, and a few stray tears slipped from his chin down to his plate to wash the precious trdelník.

She laughed with him. "I had talent, just as you, but I needed to fail many times before I could succeed. In all things, Castiel, fail and fail again. Even in love, my angel, fail and fail again. Only when you do that will Andela's pride for you be complete. I am so proud of what you can be, Castiel. But you must fail more to reach your potential. Lose in love. Lose all your money. Lose your job. Lose. Because one day you will find that these risks you take, they are why we live at all. I will never be disappointed in you for trying and failing, my love. I will be here when you get hurt. Even long after I am gone, you tell yourself, babička is proud of me, because I tried. I will only be sorry if you never try, Castiel. In life and in love. Try."

Before he realized it, he had leapt from his seat and thrown his arms around her small frame. "Babička," he wept, "do you know I love you?"

She held him close. "I do. But I like to hear you say it, because it tells me you know it is okay to love me, that you know I will never give up on you. You can say it because you know you will not regret saying it. It is okay to love people, Castiel. When someone loves you, they don't leave if you make mistakes. Your father did not leave because you made mistakes, Castiel. He left because _he_ made mistakes. Don't be your father. I will always love him, but don't be him. Love people and feel safe letting them love you. When you fail, you tell them you will try again. You are worth loving, my angel Castiel. Go to this Sam boy and get yourself hurt, if that is what will happen. You like him. So try. It is the only way to live."

He took a deep breath, smelled the sweet fragrance that was his babička, scents from the kitchen mixed with the perfume of some flower that God forgot to create. He squeezed his eyes closed tightly.

"I promise I'll start trying, Andela," he breathed into her neck. "Please don't give up on me."

She rubbed circles into his back. "That's my good boy," she murmured. "My angel Castiel."


	10. Traditional

"Okay, sir. Can you see if the blue cable is connected properly? Is it in the USB port that...Yes, of course I'll wait." Sam muted his microphone and sighed. He glanced at the clock. Just another few minutes. He could probably make this his last call if he dragged it out just another minute or so. The danger in taking one more call was that if it was not an easy fix, he could be trapped for another half hour. The bosses at Sandover didn't like him logging off a minute or two early, but they certainly didn't like him staying on the clock past his shift.

He closed his eyes and waited.

His daydreams the past week all contained images from Castiel's paintings. The man was brilliant, and there was no mistaking that. He was quiet and shy to the point of awkward, but there was something so endearing about it, especially when it came from someone who dressed and sounded like a thug. He was nearly certain Castiel had been arrested at least once. And that cousin Gabriel sounded like he was a little sketchy. But Sam didn't care. He could tell the artist was a good man. And it had been years since Sam had felt anything but hopeless and lonely and tired. Now suddenly, he felt as though Castiel had torn down the curtains to let in the sunshine. Even music was more captivating when Castiel was there doing his work. Unlike other paintings Sam had viewed, Castiel's were dynamic. Each piece seemed to move the longer he stared at it. And even more incredible was Sam's urge to move with it.

His hand flew to the keyboard, and his eyes shot open to find the white wall across the room from him again. "Yes, sir. No, I'm happy to help. If you need absolutely anything, don't hesitate to call....I appreciate that....yes, thank you. Goodnight." He disconnected the call, made notes, and logged off.

It was probably dark on the east coast, he guessed. He wondered what it was like in New York right now. He missed the colors of that city. He didn't miss the MTA or the extreme expenses. He didn't miss the way taxis blew through crosswalks, when traffic moved at all, or the way everything seemed to have a hidden fee and everyone seemed to have a hidden agenda.

But the colors.

He missed being surrounded by some of the greatest artists in the world. In New York, the street acts were just as likely to be incredible musicians as those within the walls of Julliard. The Ballet, where he had earned a coveted backstage internship, had allowed him the chance to see productions that most dancers would only dream about, and to brush shoulders with some of the most legendary of dancers, some of whom were divas, but most of whom were down to earth characters who took the time to answer a question from a shy intern now and then.

It was a dream.

And that was all it was now. A distant, fading dream.

Sam shook his head. Dean was wrong. He didn't hate his current job. He liked helping people, and he was good at what he did with computers. Unlike many dancers, Sam had a logical, mathematical brain. It had terrified him when his teachers had expected him to improvise instead of follow a choreographer's instructions exactly. Now, of course, improvisation was all he had. But his orderly mind liked fixing problems, and his social anxiety appreciated being able to do it remotely, from his own home.

But it wasn't dance. It wasn't creation, wasn't expression. It wasn't art.

He had long since let contact with friends at Julliard slip away. He had nothing in common with them anymore. They were busy pushing into a crowded art world, running a never-ending race, and he was sitting still, literally.

He wondered sometimes if Dean had ever felt that way about him when he left for school. He didn't know how to ask.

And speaking of Dean, why was he standing there looking at him like that?

"What?"

"You're signed off?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Why? You need something?"

"Isn't that early?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up. He had been certain Dean's memories had reset to before the accident this morning upon waking up. "Uh...no. Not exactly. I started earlier today because of the-"

"East coast maintenance."

He stared at him. Reset or not, for Dean to remember what Sam had said two hours ago, let alone twelve hours ago, was incredible. "Yeah. How did you know?"

A very odd look came over Dean's face now. "You told me?" he said, searching Sam's eyes for confirmation.

"Huh. Yeah, I did. Weird."

"Sammy, I want something. Is...that okay?"

Sam's face was pinched in confusion. "Of course." His mind began racing with calculations regarding their limited budget. Dean couldn't possibly need new clothes or boots yet, and he had just gotten him-

"A newspaper. Can-can I get you to put a newspaper under my door in the morning? Is that...So I see it before I walk out?"

He nodded. "Yeah, man. Of course. You don't think that's going to upset you?"

Dean's eyes flashed like they did whenever he felt Sam was treating him like a child. "Dude, I'm twenty-six."

Sam sighed. Dean was twenty-seven.

"I'm not going to pitch a tantrum. If I get a little pissed, tell me to suck it up. I'll have Carmen write that on the wall in big red letters. Suck it up, Winchester."

"Carmen!" He stared in alarm. Then his eyes narrowed, and he stood from his seat to approach his brother. "Dean? Who is Carmen?" he said slowly.

Now the green eyes looked unsure. "She's...a friend. Isn't she?"

"Sort of," he said with a cautious tone. "She's your nurse. Dean, how did you hear about Carmen?"

"She called. To tell me she was coming today. Is she...not someone I can trust?"

Sam nodded. "Oh. Okay. Yeah, I didn't know she did that, called you to tell you she's coming. You can trust her, man. She's a good person. I like her a lot. To say she goes above and beyond is an understatement. She's practically becoming family." He was surprised that Carmen had called, but it explained how Dean was getting his information.

His brother looked relieved. "I'm glad," he murmured. "Tell me that, okay? Whenever you think of it, mention that you like and trust Carmen. And if that changes, tell me that too. And she's coming soon?"

"Yeah, she should be here in about two hours, I guess. And while she's here, I-"

"You're going to leave. I know. It's okay."

Sam smiled at him. "Wow. Okay. That was easy."

"I'm cleaning the kitchen while you're gone. And I wanted to cook for you before you go."

"Dude, what's up? What's going on with you today? You don't need to worry about this stuff."

Dean licked his lips and refused to look in his eyes. "It's something I can do. Right?"

"Yeah, I mean...yeah. As long as I'm up and nearby, you're always welcome to cook. You get confused sometimes, man, so I don't want you to do it when I'm asleep or something, but..."

"Fine. But you can relax and just talk to me while you...while you supervise. Tell me about work or...whatever."

Sam took a deep breath. "I guess so. But you don't want to hear about that stuff."

At last, the green eyes locked with his. "I do want to hear it. I want to hear everything. I'm cooking for you tonight, and I want you to sit on that stool and tell me everything while I'm cooking. And when Carmen gets here, you're going to go, and I'm going to clean the kitchen. It's something I can do."

He gave his brother a soft smile, and nodded. "Okay, man. Thank you. Really. You know, if you think of something you want me to keep around so you can cook more, just write it down."

Dean frowned then. "I don't think...Can I just tell you?"

He nodded. It came up so rarely that he sometimes forgot how difficult writing was for his brother. "Yeah, of course. That's better."

In no time, Dean was clattering around the kitchen, and every few minutes, Sam had a new demand for his grocery list. He laughed a little. It was almost fun to watch Dean express irritation at his own kitchen's lack of ingredients. It was lighthearted grumbling that reminded him of the old days, when Dean had lamented the way everything John made turned into a soup, a stew or a chili, whether it was meant to or not, because it was all John knew how to cook, including his cure-all "kitchen sink stew" which had enough cayenne pepper to burn their lips off. Dean had taken over cooking duty early on, but John was still the one stocking the kitchen, so Dean was never happy with what he had to work with. Sam made a mental note, to go with his handwritten grocery list, to let Dean make more of the decisions at the grocery store.

"What are you making?" he wondered.

"Traditional Kansan meal, Sammy. Barbecue ribs and corn on the cob."

A slow smile spread across his face. "What? Dean, you haven't done your barbecue in years!"

He received a shrug. "And yet I remember making it a little over a week ago."

Sam's mind seemed to stutter over this information. For over two years, he had focused on what Dean couldn't remember. How had he never thought of what Dean would remember long after others had forgotten? "That's incredible," he breathed.

Dean glanced at him in surprise. "What's incredible is that I can't do a meatloaf and ketchup glaze with what I've got in here." He tossed a container at his brother, who caught it clumsily. "Read the measurements to me."

It was a pleasant evening, spent helping occasionally, but mostly just watching Dean work, trading jokes and stories each of them had told before. Sam did any reading or math for Dean, but in a way that did not disrupt the dynamic between them, and did not hurt Dean's pride.

When they were finished, about fifteen minutes before Carmen was scheduled to arrive, Sam watched Dean carefully plate two settings at the dining table, and package the rest into containers, which he placed into a cooler.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"For your dinner."

Sam shook his head and hooked his thumb toward the dinner on the table. "I don't understand."

"That's for me and Carmen. I've got enough for you and the guy you're seeing, in here to take with you."

The younger man felt his mouth go dry, and he stared at Dean in disbelief. "How...?"

"Carmen," Dean said simply, then put his hands on his hips and looked at him in a fierce challenge. "You going to tell me my Kansan barbecue can't hold up against some Slovak potatoes?"


	11. Call and Response

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

The artist's mind had been racing all weekend. He had struggled to keep focused on his work. His boss had snapped at him twice on Tuesday for taking too much time with his work. The third time, he had taken him aside.

"They don't care, kid! It's a fast food restaurant. They're going to have kids puking on the walls the day it opens. If you try to make it perfect, we'll be days past contract, and I ain't paying for that." The man sighed heavily. "Look, kid. You do good work, and you ain't slow. You show up on time and you're the hardest worker I got. But it ain't the Sistine Chapel, you know? It's a damn chain restaurant. Nobody cares."

Castiel had forced a smile and nodded. "I know. I'm sorry."

He slapped him on the back gruffly. "You're a good kid. You take pride in your work. I get it. Just have a heart for me too, you know? I gotta get this job done in two days, and the big boss don't care if I'm late because my Russian kid thinks he's Michelangelo, you know?"

"Slovak," Castiel sighed.

"What?"

"Nothing. Yes, sir. I'll have it done in an hour."

The man grinned. "That's what I needed to hear, kid."

"Hey, sir?"

He turned back to him. "Yeah?"

Castiel lowered his gaze. "Um...Just curious about something. Thought you might know."

"What's that?"

"How-how do you find out who owns a piece of property, and what it's zoned for?"

A flash of white teeth slipped through a smile. "You buying land, kid?"

"No, I-Of course not. I just...wanted to know."

He shrugged. "Most of that stuff can be found online. If not, city records are public at the district office. But I'm betting you can find it online if you know the address."

Castiel nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"Sure. Get this done."

"Yes, sir."

He took his motorcycle to the church this time. He was later getting out than he had expected, and he had run home to shower and change clothes before heading back out. If he walked as he usually did, he would be far later. He did not want to miss a minute with Sam, not after spending four days aching to see him again.

He pulled the bike right into the church. Leaving it outside would draw attention to the fact that the abandoned space had squatters. He could paint anywhere, and did, but if they got caught, Sam would be out a place to dance, and Castiel would feel terrible.

He pulled off his helmet and shook his hair out before he realized Sam was already there. He gave him a crooked grin, and hopped off his bike. "Sorry about the noise. I figured I'd be the first here again."

Sam shook his head. "No. It's okay. And..." He gestured to a cooler against the wall. "I wanted to return the favor from Thursday."

Castiel stared at the man. "You didn't have to!"

He laughed shyly. "No, I know. But when my brother found out your grandmother cooked a Slovak meal for me, he couldn't stand to be outdone. So to match your-how did you say it? Halušky? This is my brother's signature meal, which he's claiming is part of our Kansas heritage."

His grin widened. "That's awesome! You live with your brother?"

A bit of a cloud passed over Sam's eyes, and he lowered himself to stretch his long legs. Castiel watched curiously. "Yeah. It's just the two of us. Small family. Not like yours."

"That's a shame," he said without meaning to. "Everybody should have lots of family around to drive them crazy."

Sam huffed another laugh. "No, my brother can do that on his own. And he'd probably say the same about me." But his laugh had less pleasure in it than before, and Castiel wondered what the relationship between the brothers was. "Anyway, I'm going to get started. It's been a long couple of days. I've had to be at work early each day since Friday. I'm already exhausted."

Words tended to fall out of Castiel's mouth before he had edited for content. It was one reason why he sometimes went days without talking unless he had to. "Do you want to just sit and talk tonight?" As soon as he had said it, his face flushed hot scarlet, and his tongue twisted into knots. He reminded himself that English was appropriate right now. "I mean, that's dumb, right? Why would you be here if you didn't want to dance. And-and why would I be here if I weren't painting. Right?" He closed his eyes in frustration. He bit into the tiny silver hoop in his lower lip.

Sam was smiling at him. "I did come here to dance."

"Right," Castiel said quickly. "Samozrejme."

"Sam what?"

Castiel blinked. "What?"

He laughed again, and this time, it had some of the levity back. "I mean, I did come here to dance, for weeks. Almost three months, maybe. But that's not the only reason I come anymore."

The artist held his breath.

"I mean...the company is good too."

He frowned suspiciously. "Do you mean me?"

Sam's laugh was a beautiful thing. There had to be a way for Castiel to capture it on canvas. "Of course I mean you! Who the hell else could I mean? Nobody uses this place but us!"

A slow smile competed with the blush for prominence on his face now. "So..."

The hazel eyes rolled. "So I think I'd like just sitting and talking tonight. If you would too."

If ever Castiel were going to be brave as Andela wanted him to be, to take a risk like she encouraged him to do, it should have been right then. It should be then, while Sam was standing just a few feet away, having admitted that he liked Castiel's company. It should be right at that moment, when he was close enough to touch if Castiel just took two quick strides. He took a deep breath.

Sam's cellphone rang.

Neither of them moved until the second ring. Then Sam broke their eye contact and moved away, back to the old altar to grab his phone with urgency. The moment was gone.

Castiel lowered his eyes in disappointment.

"Hey, Carmen...I can be home in about fifteen if you need me...Is he all right?...Okay, I'll be right there...No, of course it's okay. It happens sometimes. I'm actually surprised it's never happened on one of your nights yet. It was bound to eventually...No, he's been wearing himself out, and I shouldn't have let him do so much. It's my fault...I'll be there quick as I can. Let him know I'm on my way. Thanks, Carmen."

When Sam had hung up and turned back to him, Castiel had gotten his composure back. "You've got to go."

"I'm sorry. Here, take this. I'll get it back from you on Thursday." Sam's eyes searched his. "You'll...be here on Thursday, right?"

"Yes, of course. Your brother...you take care of him?"

Sam smiled without humor. "Yeah. I take care of him. A nurse comes to stay twice a week."

"Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"Right."

Castiel nodded. "Oh."

There was so much regret in the dancer's eyes, and Castiel had an aching urge to try to kiss it away. "He needs me."

"Of course he does. Look, let me drop you off, okay? It'll be faster. I'll come back later for my paints and the cooler."

"You wouldn't mind?"

Mind? Mind having Sam Winchester wrap his arms around his waist and put his chest against his back? "No," he chuckled softly. "I wouldn't mind."

Ten minutes later, Sam was calling directions into his ear, and he was glad for the bike's vibration, to mask his own tremors. When he finally pulled up to an apartment building on the west side of the city, he turned to look at Sam's wind-tossed hair and felt entirely out of breath, as if he had just run the whole way instead.

Sam hopped off the bike like a pro. "Been a long time since I rode," he laughed. "Been since New York. It'll be two and a half years before long."

Castiel stared at him in awe. The dancer was stunning, standing as he was in the night, wild hair haloed by the street lamps. He could hear an old woman whispering stern Slovak into his mind. This time, he got the words out fast enough.

"Sam, I know you have to get to your brother. But I just wanted to tell you I think you're incredible. Maybe I can give you my number, and you can text me. Let me know how your brother is doing?"

The white teeth and sweet dimple were his reward for his courage, and he basked in it. "Yeah. Do that. Here." Sam reached into his bag and pulled out a pen. Then he put his palm out for Castiel to scribble on.

He tried to dampen down his own grin, and failed badly. "Okay," he said when he was finished. "Well, goodnight. I hope everything's okay. I'll see you Thursday."

"Yeah," Sam breathed back. "Thursday."

Castiel nodded, but didn't move to kick his bike to life. He simply stared at Sam.

"Oh, for the love of..." Sam grabbed his face in both hands, and pulled him into a kiss.

Castiel was too surprised to close his eyes. Before his brain had even registered what had happened, Sam had dashed away up the stairs and through the doors without a glance behind him.


	12. Weary is as weary does

Sam was exhausted. His nerves were raw, and his muscles were worn out. He had not gotten his time with Castiel, nor dinner, nor even the exercise he had promised his restless body. It was midnight by the time he got Dean to rest. Carmen had handled everything professionally. He could not have asked for anything more. But sometimes, it just had to be Sam.

And he didn't mind. How many times had he shouted for Dean after a nightmare, and John just had not been sufficient? How many times had their father been forced to wake up Dean and send him in to help his little brother get back to sleep in the middle of the night? It got so bad when he was five that Dean had moved into his room so their father didn't even need to wake up. It had to be Dean. It was the same for Dean now. It had to be Sam.

Sam had struggled to find a pattern in Dean's episodes. The only thing he had been able to figure out was that they were more likely to happen when Dean was overtired or had tried to do too many taxing things.

He couldn't blame Carmen for being shaken. The first few times it had happened to Sam, he had been terrified, had thought perhaps he was about to lose his brother entirely.

Dean had been in the living room, trying to read the car magazine Sam had brought him. Sam had been emailing friends from school from the table. Suddenly, Dean had stood up from the couch, and tried to walk. His step had wavered as if he were walking on a rocking ship, and he let out a strange cry before crashing to the ground, right through the glass coffee table.

Sam had leapt from his seat and hurried to Dean's side. "Hey! Hey, hey, Dean! What's going on? What's wrong?"

Dean had shoved him hard against the wall, painting them both in blood from his arms which had been shredded in the fall through the table. "Get away from me! Sammy! Get away! Something wrong with me!"

Sam struggled to keep Dean from thrashing. His bandages from the multiple surgeries were still in place around his head, and Sam worried about him hurting himself even worse. "Dean! It's okay! What's going on? Does something hurt? Jesus, man, you gotta talk!"

"Can't," Dean wailed in a heartbreaking voice Sam had never heard before. "Can't. Sammy, can't!"

The younger man had done the only thing he could think to do. He held him, kept him from lashing out, but mainly just protected his head until he began to weep instead of scream.

Finally, Dean went heavy in his arms. He was still sobbing, but it was not so panicked as before.

Sam was trembling all over, wondering desperately if he should be calling for an ambulance. "Dean?"

"Sammy. I never been so scared, Sammy."

His heart broke into pieces, just as the table had done. His strong, brave, selfless, fearless brother was lying in his arms completely in his trust, and he couldn't make it better. Sam couldn't make it better, couldn't fix it. "I know, man." It was all he could say.

"Happened? Can't...wasn't here. Somewhere..."

The disorientation lasted over an hour that first time. Dean had let him bandage his arms and redress the ones on his head. Emails to friends were forgotten. Sam had just one person in his life that night. By the time Dean had started to understand where he was again, they were both drained to their cores, and Sam finally understood something too.

This was never going to be over. This was never going away. This was his life now. Dean could go days seeming fine, and at any moment, he could become helpless and afraid, and there was no one else in the world Dean would ever call out for like that. Ever.

It had to be Sam.

The episode that night had been milder. Dean had been cleaning up after dinner, and Carmen had been getting his medication, when she had heard a plate drop. Sam suspected it was the dropped plate which had triggered the episode, though Carmen thought it was the other way around. Even on the best days, Dean's manual dexterity was only average now, and on days when he had worn himself out, he lost his grip easily. The stress and loud noise had probably caused Dean to slip into the episode, and all his memories had been reset, for the second time in twenty-four hours. Carmen was only able to help him calm down eventually by assuring him over and over that Sam was on his way. It had to be Sam.

When he had walked in, Dean had been crying but he was in control enough to be embarrassed by his tears, which only lead to anger in addition to the frustration. It had been a long evening. After Sam had finally convinced his brother that things would be better in the morning, and had gotten him to take the sleeping pills he hated, Carmen took the younger man aside.

"Look, I'm sorry. Now that you've seen him like this...I would completely understand if you don't want to do it anymore. He's hard to deal with on nights like this." Sam ran a shaking hand through his hair.

Carmen smiled at him. "Of course I want to do this. This is what I signed up for, remember?"

"But this isn't just him being obstinate about me leaving the apartment without telling him. When he's like this, he doesn't know anything, or anybody. Honest? I don't think he even really knows me. It's like calling for me is a reflex, and I'm familiar enough so he gets some comfort from me, till things start connecting for him again, and then he needs me even more." He sighed heavily. "I know it's scary. It's difficult. I would still give you a fantastic reference, Carmen. You've been wonderful with him. You were the fourth nurse, you know. The first and third ones never understood what was going on with him, and the second..."

"The second?"

"Well, she _really_ didn't get it. She slept with him while I went for a twenty minute grocery run, and got upset when he couldn't remember her name the next time she came."

She put her hand on his arm and smirked. "And unlike them, I'm a professional and I don't scare easy. I'm not leaving unless you're unhappy with me or your brother is."

He watched her through a film of admiration. "You're amazing, Carmen."

"Yup. Dean says I'm a dream."

He lowered his eyes now. "Carmen? I like you very much, and I like the way you work with him. But sometimes I worry..."

She shrugged. "About what?"

He swallowed hard. "Carmen, you know this is permanent. This isn't something that gets better. You know that. Right?"

Carmen's smile softened and she gave a quick nod. "Better than you do, Sam," she said in that kind, sympathetic tone that made Sam think sometimes that she was his nurse as well.

He felt tears sting at the backs of his eyes. "Okay. I just wanted to be sure. I know you consider yourself his friend, and you're certainly a good one. But you know he isn't ever going to remember you from day to day."

"I know. And that's all right. For the past several months, I've enjoyed his company very much. He's a perfect gentleman, even when he flirts with me. Every time I come, he acts like I'm exactly what he needed and didn't know it. He won't ever remember me from one visit to the next, but he will always treat me with respect and never take my help for granted. That says a lot about a man. You and your brother are some of the best men I've ever met, and I really do like coming and working with him, and giving you some rest. He told me a little about the man you're seeing. I like that I had something to do with that."

An impulse struck him, and he put his arms around her gently. He pulled away just as quickly, but when he did, she was smiling happily. He sighed. "Thank you, Carmen. Dean and I...we're both lucky you're part of the family."

She patted his cheek, and disappeared back into Dean's room to read while he slept, and be there if he needed her. Sam was grateful. Because it didn't _always_ have to be Sam.

Now he was lying on his bed, staring into the dark wearily, and he glanced at his phone. It was up to him. He wished it weren't. He had been the one to throw a kiss at Castiel on his way into the apartment. He wished he had given Castiel his number instead. Then he would have known if the kiss had been going too far. Now he had to put himself out there again by being the one to send a message.

He put the phone down.

He picked it up again.

What was he supposed to say?

_Hey, Castiel. Is this even how you spell your name?_

He sighed and erased it.

_Hey, Cas. One 's' or two?_

This made him snort, and he erased it as well.

_Hey, it's Sam, the kiss and run._

He snickered quietly, and erased the message.

_Hey, so you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Your lips are incredible. You're brilliant. You're talented. And I've never wanted someone in my bed as bad as you. Seriously, I'm so tired, but I can't sleep because I'm thinking of all the things your talented hands could be doing to me. This is Sam, by the way._

He laughed and went to erase this too.

And nearly swallowed his own tongue when he realized he had accidentally sent the message instead.


	13. Taking Risks

_This is Sam, by the way._

Castiel had been staring at his phone for nearly five minutes.

_This is Sam, by the way._

By the way, this is the guy you've been pining for over the past several weeks. This is Sam, the most breathtaking and heartbreaking piece of art you'll ever experience. By the way.

"Ako sa to stalo?" he muttered.

"How did what happen? What are you looking at?"

Castiel's heart jumped into his throat, and he dove for the phone, but Gabriel's hands were quick. After all, there had never been a better thief than Gabriel Bojovník. He had taught Castiel all he knew.

"Ha! Who is Sam, little cousin?"

"No one! Give it back!"

The older man shoved him back into his chair as he tried to leap up to retrieve his property. "No, no. Who is Sam? Is it a Samantha or a Samuel, chlapček?"

Castiel glared down at the table in defeat. "Samuel, I guess."

"You guess?" Gabriel teased. "You're going to want to know before your talented hands get to work. It'll affect how you do things."

"Môj bože, shut up! What are you even doing here? Don't you have an obnoxious dog to get home to?"

"He won't starve," Gabriel said dismissively as he dropped into the chair next to him. "Whatcha reading?"

Castiel had been so worried about his phone that he had forgotten to cover his computer and the brochures. "Nothing. Seriously, give me my phone."

Gabriel shook his head. "Who...is...Sam?"

He groaned. "Am I going to have to kick your ass to get it back?"

There was a dark flash of amusement in Gabriel's eyes. "You can try," he said, in a way that made Castiel think he wished he would.

The younger man sighed. "If you tell Michal or Ludvík, I will. I swear I will."

Gabriel put his hands up. "A wise man keeps all information flowing in and not going out."

"I don't consider you a wise man," he responded dubiously.

His cousin nodded as though that was a fair assessment. "Okay. A manipulative and devious man will keep secrets to himself in case he needs them for leverage later."

Castiel had to admit that was probably the way Gabriel operated. "Fine." He gave Gabriel the story, how the rain storm had forced him into the church, where he had found something out of a dream. To his surprise, Gabriel listened carefully, and never interrupted to tease or taunt. He watched the pale whiskey eyes for signs that his cousin was finding the story amusing, but instead saw only focused attention and thoughtfulness. At last he shrugged. "That's it. Then I got that text a few minutes ago."

Gabriel was nodding, and Castiel could practically hear his mind working. The older man glanced down at the brochures. "And this?"

"I...I don't..." Castiel stammered.

"You going back to school?"

The pamphlets for the local college were spread out in front of him, but he shook his head. "I don't know. I'd probably have to go through basic art again, and I don't think I could do that for two years."

Gabriel watched him for a moment, then took a breath. "Cas, you've taken the basics before. In high school and after high school. You don't need to be in a school to be an artist. You just need a place to work and supplies." He raised an eyebrow. "This is the guy you wanted the speakers for, right?"

"Yeah."

He nodded again. "Cas, if you had a studio, would you quit your job?"

A frown struck his face as if he had been physically hit. "No. Of course not! I can't live on my art!"

But Gabriel was already standing to pace the kitchen. "I'd have to have the right location for it..."

"Gabe, what are you even talking about?"

"Ludvik would charge me an arm and a leg for that, but I can get that back by raising his price on that shipment he wants, and I bet he wouldn't even notice..."

"Gabriel?"

"I'd be able to take in that contract with the Hudobník family, and I'd be their only supplier in the U.S. And it would piss off Crowley Zatracený, which is reason enough by itself..."

Castiel put his hands up. "You're obviously not talking to me anymore, so I'm going to go to bed."

Without even turning toward him, Gabriel caught him by the collar as he attempted to leave. Castiel gave a yelp.

"What are you-"

"Castiel, in two weeks, give your two weeks' notice."

He stared at him. "It's-it's day work. I don't have to give notice."

"Good. Because I'm going to hire you, and you won't have time to do both."

"Hire me for what?"

"I'll need some painting done. I'm buying some property in the city."

He shook his head in exasperation. "What? Where?"

"Two properties, actually. One on the edge of the city, I'll buy outright. Then I'll lease a place downtown. Both will need some work."

"Okay. I guess."

At last, Gabriel met his eyes again. "Well? Go to bed. I've got business to conduct, and you've got a text to respond to."

***

At two o'clock on Wednesday morning, Gabriel stood inside an old, burned out church. It had terrible water damage, and was open to the weather on all sides. But he could tell the place had potential. And inside...

Gabriel did not smile often. His usual repertoire consisted of sneers, smirks and snarls. Most days, that was the best he could manage. Then there were mornings when he was out on the edge of the city with the dawn, and he ran across a vision which could only have been done by The Angel, and his unpracticed smile came unbidden to his face.

Ludvík and Michal thought Castiel's artwork was a waste of time, especially if he wasn't getting paid for it. Ludvík grieved for the potential Castiel had shown for breaking and entering, and sometimes approached the kid with a job, usually involving the theft of paperwork from offices or leaving a threat for someone who had crossed Ludvík somehow, inside a space which should be safe. Ludvík enjoyed drama like that, and Castiel had a distinct talent for getting into places where he didn't belong. Michal was more subtle. He had hoped to turn Castiel into something of an apprentice, since the kid was so good with tiny details. Michal dreamed of the day he could hand over the daily operations of his gambling rings to someone he could trust, and who better than family? Hana was a complete disappointment. But they had thought Castiel might...

Gabriel breathed in the energy of the church and smiled happily.

Castiel was too good for Michal or Ludvík. The kid frustrated them both by refusing to bite when they offered to coach him into recidivism. No amount of coaxing or offers or promises could trump Castiel's bottom line, which was that Andela deserved better from him.

Castiel was a good kid.

And Gabriel was proud of him. This church was practically a museum to The Angel's passion and genius. What had clearly begun as graffiti art had become a shrine which had drifted into other media. There was a nook in the back, behind the altar, which no one without Gabriel's trained eye would have seen. Upon investigating, he found an airtight case with supplies. Castiel had charcoals and brushes, pencils and pastels, and of course spray paint of all types and colors. There was a collection of canvases, some blank and some beautiful.

Gabriel took out the camera he had brought along. He left the canvases alone, but got busy documenting the graffiti on the walls and pews. His website was the clearinghouse for The Angel's work, after all, the place where all the other sites came to find the latest visions and inspiration.

He did not intend to disappoint.

***

He had tried to construct a response to Sam's text for twenty minutes after climbing into bed. At last he sighed and simply typed out what was streaming through his mind, what had been pounding in his heart since he had first seen the man. It would have to be enough. Words were not what Castiel had any mastery over. He sent the text, then deliberately put his phone away so he could dream.

***

He heard the message come through at last, and he held his breath as he reached for it.

_Sam, you are everything my heart has never known to want, and everything my hands have ever failed to create. You are the strength and grace I ache for in my life. So please, please don't tease me if you don't mean it, because I will risk everything and fall for you, and then never recover. This is Castiel, by the way._

Sam stared at the message, and reread it several times before the smile erupted. He did not bother constructing his words this time.

_Fall. I'll catch._

With the new message and promise sent, he felt his whole body swell with happiness, and he burrowed into his blankets and pillows, and pretended they were Castiel Bojovník.


	14. Angel of Tuesdays and Thursdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

It is interesting, and a little surreal, the way the world keeps spinning when it seems that it should at least stumble or shudder. Regardless of what happens in the night, an indifferent dawn awakens nonetheless. Time has no patience, nor does it tolerate impatience.

When Dean was shot in the head, Sam could not understand why the universe had not frozen in time before tripping along brokenly, forever altered by the news. Clocks should have stopped, birds should have quieted, thunder should have boomed...Something should have changed forever.

When he and Castiel became more, the earth should have trembled. Angels should have sung. If nothing else, Sam at least should have awoken to find that he had been dreaming. Instead, he had fallen asleep with a smile on his face, and awoken with a groan and a wince when the alarm went off as always. Nothing was different, except for Sam.

He grabbed at his phone as soon as he remembered.

A message sent this morning at five was awaiting him.

_I'm heading to work, and I'll think of you all day. I wish I could see you before tomorrow night._

Sam's heart pounded, and he stretched himself out on the bed happily. His whole body shivered in excitement as he tapped out his response.

_I woke up dreaming about you. Waiting till tomorrow night is going to be rough._

Then he pushed himself out of bed and moved to the shower. He needed to hurry. He had to be plugged in before long, and he wanted time to get himself something to eat first.

But when he emerged from his room, showered and dressed in clothes too comfortable and worn out to be good for anything other than sitting at the dining table and taking calls, he was shocked to find Dean already awake and in the kitchen.

"Good morning?" he murmured.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

"Dude," he said, stepping into a wave of music. "Asia?"

"You love this song and you know it."

Sam raised his eyebrow. "Dean, you feeling okay?"

"Yes," his brother reported firmly.

"No...questions?"

Dean stopped crashing around in the kitchen for a moment. Then he shook his head. Without turning to face him, he responded. "Anything I should be asking?"

"No. Not unless...No. Do what you're doing. It's nice having you up so early. I'm usually sulking around by myself trying not to burn cold cereal."

Dean's laugh was back as he dropped a plate laden with eggs and bacon on the table for him. "Not today. You want juice?"

"Yeah. Thank you." He smiled in awe at his brother. "I like...this mood of yours. It's going to be a good day."

"Got that right," Dean called back. Then he looked up again. "Sammy? Do we know a Carmen?"

He stared at him. This was the second day in a row. "Yes. Did she...did she call you?"

"Was she not supposed to do that?"

"No, it's fine." He remembered Dean's request from the day before. "I, uh...You can trust Carmen. She's family. She's a good person and she cares about us."

He nodded. "Good. Why are you talking so slowly, like you're afraid of pissing me off?"

Sam had not realized he was speaking with hesitation. "I don't know. You're kind of in a good mood, and I don't want to screw that up, I guess. And if Carmen gave you the story about your injury, but you don't have any questions for me, I don't really know what to do next. That's how we've started every couple of mornings for the past two years, man. And the ones in between, where you've got some notion of what's going on, you're usually asleep right now. I guess I've forgotten how to spend breakfast with you. It's been weird this week."

Dean stared at him with a grimace on his face. "Well, knock it off. Seriously, you're freaking me out." He went back to washing a pan while he shoved bacon into his mouth.

"You really feel fine?"

"Sammy." It was said in a warning tone.

He sat to enjoy his meal and his brother's company. Dean put the cleaned pan in the cabinet and then sat across from him to eat his own eggs, and steal some of Sam's bacon.

"Hey!"

"I made it."

"For me!" But he could not help laughing.

Dean shrugged. "I miscalculated. I was shot in the head. You can't expect me to divide bacon evenly."

"Uh huh," Sam responded. "God, you're using the shot in the head defense? Really? How cliché."

Dean snickered his way through another bite. Sam could practically feel him relaxing. "If only I'd had that card to play in high school."

Sam shook his head at him. Then he raised his eyes to watch Dean thoughtfully.

"What?"

He felt a flush heat his face and throat. "Nothing. It's just...I wanted to tell you something that happened. Do you feel like hearing? Would that be okay? Like, you're not too tired or something-"

"Sam. Tell me."

He licked his lips and put down his fork. "You don't remember, but there's this guy."

"Slovak. Cas something."

He blinked. "How do you know that?"

"Carmen."

Right. Carmen. "Oh. Well, yeah. He is an artist. And he's...You-you made your barbecue for us. It was awesome. I shouldn't have let you; it wore you out, but it was really great." Sam didn't feel it was necessary to add that he had not gotten the chance to enjoy it himself.

"Did he come here to eat with us?"

"No. No, I took it with me. And then he drove me back to the apartment building and...and I kissed him."

Dean stared. "You telling me I broke out my barbecue for a dude you hadn't even kissed yet?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah. But I did it. I kissed him. And texted him." His blush was going from bad to worse. "I accidentally told him I wanted to sleep with him."

"Accidentally? Dude, am I going to have to coach you on flirting?"

He was practically giggling now. "Apparently not, since he replied that he's falling for me."

The green eyes softened. "I'm glad, man. I'm happy for you. When do I meet him?"

Sam's giddiness crashed into the floor, as reality washed over him in a wave. "Oh. No, I can't...He's not going to be anything long-term, man. I can't do that. I mean, that just won't work. But it might be nice to hang out with him a few times a week. That's all it is."

"He know that?"

Sam swallowed hard. "He will. I'll tell him."

Dean raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else.

It was a miserable day.

With every hour that passed, Sam felt a familiar, strangling desire to run becoming stronger. He wanted to run from this life, from the white walls, from the heartache and repetition day in and day out. He wanted music, movement and color in his world, but that could never happen again. The most he could ever have was an hour or two of passion, when he could lie to himself and pretend it could last.

The truth was that Sam could not have what he wanted. Dean had sacrificed them both to save that kid, and Sam knew it was worth it. But there would never come a day when he didn't need to be there when Dean woke up, so the dream of waking up with someone else was just a new means of torturing himself.

Castiel could be a friend. And he could even be a lover. But he could not become more than that. There was nothing Sam could do about that, so he should be honest with Castiel.

Tomorrow. He would be honest tomorrow, he decided. Thursday was a good day for that. Wednesday would be for dreaming.

***

Castiel sometimes forgot that he didn't make noise when he walked. He regularly startled people without meaning to. So when he crouched down behind Sam while he stretched, and placed a gentle hand on the back of his neck, he had quickly found himself flattened onto the floor by a man whose reflexes and strength easily rivaled his own.

Sam stared down at him. "Cas! Shit, I'm so sorry! You scared me and...I'm so sorry!"

He blinked up at the dancer. "Don't sneak up on Sam. Noted."

The large man was still leaning over him from where he sat on the floor. A slow smile came over his handsome features. "I didn't plan it like this, but I was kind of hoping to get you on your back at some point."

Castiel smirked. "I didn't plan it like this either. I kind of figured I'd be the one up there."

Sam burst into laughter. "Yeah? You're used to working with flat surfaces. I'm the one who needs space to do what I do."

Even lying on his back, Castiel managed a look of dominance that seemed to make Sam shiver. "Every canvas is different," he hissed. "Every piece of art needs something different. What do you need, Sam?"

The hazel eyes were dark today, in this light. The candles Sam always set out were flickering shadows across his face. Slowly, Castiel realized the shadow was Sam himself.

"Sam? Is something wrong?"

At last, the large man sat back, and Castiel lifted himself to his elbows.

"Sam?"

Now the eyes refused to meet his. "Cas, I don't need anything. I want...but that doesn't matter."

A spike of anxiety threw Castiel off balance, but he recovered immediately. "Sam, how is your brother?"

The gaze flicked up, then back down again. A pained smile tightened Sam's face. "Remember how we were going to talk on Tuesday?"

Castiel took his hand in his own, and the sorrowful gratitude radiating from this gorgeous man at the small gesture was something Castiel would put on canvas one day.

Sam stared at their hands. "Can I tell you about my brother?"

"I want to hear everything." He did. He especially wanted to know what made Sam insist that he needed nothing and what he wanted did not matter. He wanted to know why it felt like Sam was the one afraid to move forward with Castiel, even though he had been the one to reach out. He wanted to know why it felt like everything was ending between them before anything had begun.

Sam nodded and kept his eyes low. "First thing. My brother, Dean, he's a hero. He's always been my hero, but a few years back, he showed the rest of the world what I already knew."

As the story unraveled, Castiel held Sam's hand in his, rubbing his thumb gently over the man's skin. He listened quietly, felt every ounce of heartache Sam felt, and then smiled softly when he heard about how freeing it was for Sam to find this sanctuary and eventually to find Castiel.

"It wasn't something I thought I could have. And I don't know how long it can last. So...it was selfish of me to initiate anything with you. It isn't fair to you or Dean for me to pretend everything is normal and that this...that you...that you're something I can have. Because I can't. Not the way I want to, and the way I think you want to." And now, the eyes were glistening just a little too much, and they were searching Castiel's, pleading for understanding, for forgiveness.

Castiel nodded and smiled. "Okay."

Sam watched him. "Okay?"

He shrugged. "Okay. If a few hours a week is all I can have, that's all I can have. Sam, you said nothing can change for you and Dean, not ever."

The man flinched. "Yes," he confirmed.

"Then I'll know where to find you every Tuesday and Thursday forever."

Hope leapt through hazel then, and Castiel thought he might need to paint that too. "You can't be content with that," he murmured.

"Just promise me you'll make every effort to be here those nights. And that while you're here, you'll give in to whatever it is you want, because it does matter. What you want and what you need does matter, Sam. And I want to be the one to give it to you. So if that's what I can have, that's what I want. If you're willing to make the most of our time together two nights a week? That's all I'll ever ask of you."

He found himself on his back again, but this time, he wasn't surprised. And he certainly did not mind.


	15. Till Tuesday

It was six thirty on Tuesday when Castiel reached up to knock on a door. He took a deep breath and held it, before letting it out very slowly through puffed cheeks.

He hoped he was not making a mistake. Andela had told him to take risks, not to be an idiot.

But he was a big brother, and it seemed like the right thing to do.

His mind whisked him back to Thursday night. After talking, he had been rewarded for his response to Sam's trepidation with an evening of kisses, dance, painting and laughter. It had been the most glorious night of his life. Sam Winchester was an insatiable force of passion. Once unleashed, it was a dizzying display of hazel and purple spiraling all around poor, breathless Castiel, who could do little more than simply experience it all. One minute, Sam was improvising his way through Vivaldi, and the next, he was entangled in Castiel's grasp through Guns and Roses. He was completely absorbed in his own body, then without warning, he was entirely engulfed in Castiel's. An hour passed as Castiel brought his piece of the studio to life with a depiction of demons dancing through The Rapture, and then time stopped while Sam moved him toward a celestial rapture of their own.

Never had Castiel ever felt so filled and so depleted as he did when falling into his own bed at two o'clock on Friday morning.

Texts had flown back and forth all weekend, and they called one another each night after their families were asleep. In four days, they asked one another everything. He knew what Sam's favorite songs were, what he thought was important in a political candidate, and who he thought would win in a fight between Chuck Norris and Jet Li. Castiel had taught him the Slovak words for dance and for lover, had told him about the time Hana had nearly drown and needed him to save her, and about the time Hana had given him an enormous black eye and he was so proud of her he couldn't be angry. He had told Sam about his record, about being so ashamed of disappointing Andela that he had turned his life around on the spot. Sam told him how hard it was to leave Julliard, and how hard it was now to imagine himself there at all. They each promised to tell the other about their fathers one day. Castiel told him that Gabriel, his older cousin who ran most of the black market goods in the city, had bought him his first set of real pencils, and how he had treasured them. Sam told him that Dean was the reason he had been able to dance in the first place, that he had supported him, emotionally and financially when his father would not, and that Dean had always come to every performance, no matter what.

So here he was, standing outside the door, hoping he wasn't wrong about this.

A woman answered. "Yes?"

"You're Carmen?"

"I am."

He nodded. "Okay. I'm Castiel. I wanted to take you and Dean to a little place where Sam dances on Tuesdays. He won't know you're coming. But I know Dean hasn't seen it in years. And he won't remember tomorrow, maybe, but he should get the chance to experience it tonight."

Carmen's smile was beautiful. "I'll get him."


	16. The Ties that Bind

Carmen watched Dean's eyes with concern. The man was silent, but tears had been streaming down his cheeks for several minutes. She sighed. "Are you all right?" she murmured.

He stared up at the photographs on his desk from where he was seated on the bed. "Yeah," he breathed. "I just don't want to forget."

She nodded. "I know. But, Dean, Castiel was right. Just because you won't remember tomorrow, that doesn't mean you didn't see your brother dance tonight. Was it worth it, knowing the memory will be gone soon?"

"Yeah," he choked out again. "Yeah, it really was."

The nurse smiled at him kindly. "Dean, I need you to make a decision about something. It's important. Can you focus?"

"I think so."

"I took video of your brother tonight. I'm going to delete my copy of it. Do you want me to make a copy for you before I do that? You could watch it again anytime you want."

The green eyes were full of tears and adoration when he looked at her. "You recorded it?"

"Yes. I thought you might want it. But if you think it will upset you-"

"No, I want it. Please. Please don't delete it."

She put a soft hand on his cheek. "I won't delete it until you've got a copy." She sat at his desk and took out her journal. "All right. Are you ready?"

Dean nodded, wiping away his tears and taking on a look of determination. "Yeah."

"You don't have to do this, Dean. You know that."

He laughed sadly. "You're a good person, aren't you? How did I end up with such a cool nurse?"

She smirked at him. "I've just got low standards."

It made her happy when Dean laughed. She knew what Sam had been getting at when he asked her about her friendship with Dean. And it was ridiculous to pretend that if circumstances were different she wouldn't be attracted to him. Maybe more than she had ever been to any man. But that was not her role here. She was content being Dean's nurse. She could see that a less experienced or less ethical nurse might have fallen into the trap of mistaking her role in Dean's life. Most nights, Dean was a sweet, flirty, charming man with a silly sense of humor and stunning good looks, and it would be easy to pretend. But she knew better. He needed her. She had grown to love him, but it would never be a romantic coupling, not a sexual relationship. Dean was in her care. She was his nurse and companion. Outside of her nights with the Winchester brothers, she lead a life like anyone else. But they were part of her life now too, and she never wanted that to change.

Carmen Porter was lovely, confident, smart and independent. She had little patience for dating, and had never felt comfortable with the idea of settling in a marriage. Perhaps one day she would feel differently. But for now, she was extremely content with her friendship and job with Sam and Dean.

"Can you add that Castiel is a good guy?" he asked quietly.

Carmen nodded. "Of course."

"I don't even know what else to say tonight. Carmen...I just don't want to forget!"

"I know, Dean. But you're going to. You might have some memory tomorrow, but you can't count on that. So what is the most important thing about today that you want to tell yourself in the morning?"

Dean glowered down at his hands. "I want to find out why this is Sammy's job. Why can't I call my dad? Sammy should be the last one who should be here taking care of me. The kid should be dancing. No little brother should have to give up everything for a big brother. So why the hell isn't my dad here instead?"

"It will make you upset. Sam too, probably."

"I don't care. I want to know."

She nodded. "All right. I'll add it. And when you get your answer, we will record it, and you won't have to ask him again."

Dean was nodding. That was what he wanted. He wanted to relieve Sam of the worst stress of this martyrdom, to find a way of taking back some of the burden. That was what this was all about.

Carmen admired him for it.

***

Sam's voice was quiet. "What were you thinking?"

His lover took a deep breath and stared defiantly up into his eyes. "I'm an older brother too, môj tvrdohlavý miláčik! And I know why you are keeping it from him, but I know how I feel when nešťastný Hana has to check up on me, and I know what Dean must feel like knowing you've given everything up to take care of him. This?" He gestured to the setting around them. "This is hardly Julliard, zlato, but it is a place for you to dance again. Dean isn't stupid. He knows what it means that you're there with him; it means you aren't living a dancer's life. So give him some comfort now and then and let him see that you still have that part of you, even if it isn't what you both expected. He's so proud of you, veľkolepý muž, nádherný človek! You didn't see his face while you danced. I will be trying to put that emotion onto canvas till my dying day. Be angry if you want, but I did the right thing, and you can't convince me otherwise."

He could not help the small smile. "You are adorable when you get all self-righteous. And when you resort to Slovak when you're exasperated."

Castiel let out a breath. He ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. He let Sam take his hand, and they both looked down at the way they fit together, Sam's large, strong paw and Castiel's long, graceful fingers. The backs of each of Castiel's hands were tattooed with lush color of his own design, and there was blue paint under and on his nails.

Finally, the artist spoke again, and he sounded far less confident this time. "You aren't angry with me?"

"For putting my brother's peace above my irrational need to hide everything from him? For wanting to show me off to my own family? For bonding with the most important person in my life over appreciation of my art? No, Cas. I'm not angry. I'm kind of falling in love with you."

The next syllables from Castiel's lips were spoken with such relief that Sam didn't need to know their translation. "Vďaka bohu."

He smiled at him happily. "So? What are all those words you called me?"

Castiel blinked his blue eyes at him. "What?"

Sam laughed.

***

"I guess I just don't get why you want the old place. It's a mess."

Gabriel shrugged. "It's got some damage."

"And you're really not going to tear it down?"

"No," he confirmed. "It's a historic building. I'm preserving it. Restoring it. Great tax write off, and it improves the value of the properties around it."

The man nodded. "Well, it's already helping us a great deal. We would never have been able to rebuild it, and we thought we'd never sell it. The liability and property tax on it is weighing on us."

Gabriel signed his name one last time, with a bit of a flourish. "Not anymore."

He had offered cash for the property, which had dropped the asking price significantly. Gabriel's brother was a loan shark, among other things. He paid for everything with cash. He knew how dangerous owing someone was. No matter what he chose to do with the property now, he would turn a profit, and the congregation that had owned the property were free of a financial and emotional burden they had carried for a generation. Win win, so far as Gabriel was concerned. Ludvík would supply him with what he required to restore the old place, and Gabriel would get his money back from his conniving brother by increasing his fees on shipping things Ludvík bought and sold through him. Win win win.

The only money he was actually losing was on the property deeper into the city. For now, his only option was to lease the space, but that was all right. It reduced his liability and meant he could pull out of this venture at any time.

Now that papers were signed and hands were shaken, Gabriel moved on to the next step in the process, and the next person, whom Gabriel trusted far less.

"Absolutely not."

Gabriel threw his hands in the air. "What?"

Michal glowered evenly at him. "Shall I say it slower? Rozhodne nie."

Michal was Gabriel's least favorite brother, right after Ludvík. "Mind telling me why?"

"Because you're a terrible influence."

He nearly choked. "I'm-Me? I'm a terrible influence? You're kidding."

" _I've_ been nothing but good to bratranec Castiel."

"You sent him to break into the mayor's office and then called the police on him!"

"Ludvík sent him before I had a chance to tell him I had changed my mind."

The younger man stared at him. "That's...Okay, but that's not Castiel's fault! The kid has a criminal record because you and Ludvík used him to put the mayor in your pockets!"

Michal looked entirely exasperated. "Samozrejme! That's how I was able to get custody of him to begin with! I look out for my family!"

Gabriel was beginning to get a headache. "Michal, you and Ludvík forced him to-"

"Ah! Gave him the opportunity, chlapček."

He rolled his whiskey eyes. "You and Ludvík gave him the opportunity to break into the mayor's office, to retrieve papers that you wanted, and then when you worked out a deal with the mayor at the last minute, instead of calling Cas off, you called the police to prove that you put business over family."

"It was a strategic move," Michal admitted. "But I made it up to malý  Castiel. I said I would get him out of going to prison. I did."

"He was there for three months."

"The system works slowly, Gabriel! Môj bože! What do you want from me?"

He loved Michal. Heaven help him, he really did. But right now, he was very seriously considering shivving his ass. "I want," he said, glaring sharply into his brother's eyes without giving an inch, "you to get Castiel's parole ended. And I want you to do it now. And in the meantime, I want his custody transferred to me."

"This is ridiculous! This is-"

"This is exactly how things are going to go if you would like me to continue providing security for your side businesses, Father Michal. I would hate to see an angry gambler trying to get his loan shark bookie off his back while you didn't have my boys watching over you. Most priests don't need as much protection as you do, did you know that? Most priests don't require a team of thugs to pick up payments owed to them. Want to start making your own house calls, Father?"

Michal's gaze was pure ice. "You forget who pays the bills in this family, Gabriel."

"You think so? Because I think you drink a bit too much of your own sacrament, Father. I think you're the most convoluted hypocrite on the planet. You preach about abstaining from gambling, you place bets for gamblers, you loan them more when they run dry, and then the best part is that when you get your money back with interest, you go straight to your own bookie to place your bets. Tangled web, wouldn't you say, Father? And I think you're in too deep to be entitled to an opinion about how Cas leads his life. I think when I tell you again that I will cut off your cash flow, you are going to go straight to that phone and call your contacts, and Cas is going to be a free man in no time, and then we can get back to business as usual and pretend nothing happened. Or should I mention to Ludvík he might want to look into our big brother's gambling debts?"

Michal smiled tightly, and looked for all the world as though he wanted to break Gabriel's face. Instead, he lifted his phone.

"Smart choice. You might want to look into getting some help for that addiction of yours. You taught me and Ludvík everything we know about using someone else's weaknesses to manipulate them. No telling what he'd do with that information, huh?"

"Gabriel," Michal said quietly, "for the moment, I still love you more than I want to kill you. Do stop talking before you tip the scale. Rozumieš mi?"

The younger man smiled and leaned back in his seat contentedly.


	17. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

Dean had exhausted himself. By the time Sam came back to their apartment, Carmen reported that the man had been sleeping for hours.

"Good," Sam said quietly. "He needs it. We don't want another episode like we just had last week." His eyes were low.

She smiled at him. "Sam, I've never seen your brother so...He was really proud of you tonight. He kept saying over and over..."

"Saying what?"

"That's my brother. That's my kid brother. That's the kid I raised."

Sam took a deep breath and fought back a wealth of emotion slamming into his chest. "He said that?"

"And when we got home? Sam, he cried."

He flinched. "Cried?"

She nodded sadly in confirmation. "He knew he wouldn't remember seeing it. Just kept saying he didn't want to forget."

Sam dropped onto the couch heavily. "I don't know what came over Castiel. But...I'm glad he brought you two. He had left me a note saying I should get started without him, that he'd be along, but late. I didn't think anything of it. It wasn't until he said something that I realized how late it was getting, or even that he was there. How long were you there watching?"

Carmen took his hand in hers. "Only a little while. Maybe twenty minutes. Your brother didn't want to tell you he had been there at all, but I didn't think that was right."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Thank you. Cas watched me for several nights before he admitted to it. I'm going to start getting paranoid every time I dance."

She laughed. "I don't think you'll need to. I took some video with my phone, and gave it to Dean, and then erased my copy of it. He was grateful for it. I'm not sure I could have gotten him to sleep if he didn't know he could watch it again tomorrow if he wanted to. He desperately wanted to remember. He's so proud of you, Sam."

He squeezed her hand. "Thank you, Carmen." His voice sounded rough, but he continued. "I'm so glad he has you. And you've been calling him every morning, even on weekends...It's amazing how much of a difference that makes. I get to be his brother again when someone has already filled in some of the gaps for him. He's even started trying to read the paper in the mornings...It's hard for him, but he's stubborn. It's been good lately. Thank you for that."

"Sam? Dean isn't going to recover. But that doesn't mean nothing can get better. And I hope you will give that Castiel guy a chance. He's so in love with you. I could tell right away. I know you don't think this is something you should want."

Sam lowered his eyes again. Guilt washed over him from inside.

"But I'm telling you. You can be a good brother and be happy too. Dean wants you to be happy, no matter what that means for him. You want Dean to be cared for, no matter what that means for you. But there's something in between, and we're going to get you there. I promise."

His voice was nearly gone now, as he fought against the tears. "Thank you, Carmen," he murmured.

She patted him on the arm and headed for the door. Then she stopped. "Sam? I call him every morning, but you know that isn't all of it. Right?"

He looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Well...like you said. Reading is hard for him. Writing is out of the question. But he hears just fine." With that, she let herself out of the apartment and closed the door softly behind her.

So Sam was on the tablet computer he had gotten Dean, in the middle of the night, staring at the video that had been saved on the desktop, named, "DW Watch this."

Dean's face was on the screen, all sharp green eyes and clenched teeth. When he smiled, it was more like a sneer, and Sam found his heart racing in his chest. The voice was low and gruff, and his words had no mercy.

_Dean. We need to talk. See, I'm you. And you aren't going to remember recording this. But trust me._

_I'm you. I know how dead you are inside. How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror...and hate what you see. You're going through hell and you won't lift a finger to stop it. You think this is what you deserve. You got yourself shot stepping between a gun and a kid, and they're calling you a hero. A freaking hero. You. You believe that? You should have died. The guy shot you in the head, and blew out a chunk of your brain, and you should have died. That's what you're thinking now._

_Talk about low self-esteem. You don't get why they bothered saving you, right? Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it?_

_I hear you saying to yourself, wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up. But this ain't a dream, and you're not going anywhere till you hear what I've got to say._

_You've got nothing outside of Sam. You are nothing. You're mindless and obedient as an attack dog. Before you got yourself screwed up? What are the things that you wanted? What are the things that you dreamed? I mean, your car? That's Dad's. Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought?_

_No. No, all there is is, "Watch out for Sammy. Look out for your little brother, boy!" You can still hear your Dad's voice in your head, can't you? Clear as a bell. Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument. And then you supported Sam's choice to go into the arts, and your dad was done with both of you, and you were just devastated. Daddy giving up on you. And you know what you were thinking that night, hero. Might not remember. But you know. Some guy trying to save his kid, and yours? Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?_

_Let me tell you something. He wasn't there for Sam. I always was! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go through Hell! Sam doesn't deserve it. And I am a freaking hero. I'm the freaking hero Dad should have been. I stepped up when Dad never did. I stood up and saved that kid, and I stepped up and supported Sammy. Dad's always been your hero, Dean. You'll defend him to your dying breath. But let's be honest with each other, huh? That man scared the shit out of you. And you stood up for Sam anyway. Taking a bullet for some little kid isn't half so scary as telling John Winchester you're not going to follow along mindlessly anymore because Sammy needs you._

_Sammy needs you again. Now. He's given up everything to be there for you. Sam takes care of you now. Yeah. Swallow that for a minute. You done feeling sorry for yourself? Sammy's never going to have the life he wanted, the one he deserved. So you gotta do anything you can to help him. You're going to watch this video every day, and you're going to forget about it every night. You gotta step up for Sam today. Don't matter how you feel. You gotta cook and clean. You gotta stop bitching. And you gotta listen. This is your whole job now, and you're going to do it right, with a smile, or don't do it at all._

_You're still Dean Winchester. You're still Sammy's big brother. So you got no excuses. Dad turned out to not be the hero you needed. Hell, look around; he's not here now, is he? Look at your freaking arm. Don't call Dad. And Sam is only okay if you do your job and take care of your kid brother. He ain't getting his life back. This is his life now. And he won't complain. So you better do everything you can do._

_Look, there's a girl, Carmen. She's helping you, filling you in each day. She's...she's recording this right now, in fact. She's a friend. And she's going to remind you to watch this in the mornings, hopefully before you've met up with Sammy. She's going to tell you what you told her to say the night before. She's trying to call every morning and every night. You won't remember her. But...but you are going to like her. She's...Anyway, apparently one day you asked her to help you find some way to ease some stress for Sam, and she's...Anyway, she's the closest thing you and Sammy got to family. Even Bobby...You can't expect him to deal with this. He loves you too much. Call his number, and he's recorded a message for you._

_That first tat? Let Sam help. But don't forget Sam needs his big brother too. He's lost everything else, and he did it for you. For me. So make this better. Go make the kid breakfast. He's still a wreck in the kitchen. Go._

_Did it sound okay? You got it all? Thank you, Carmen. Really. Thank you._

The screen went dark, and Sam sat and stared at it for several minutes. He didn't care that tears were streaming down his face.

Dean told himself every morning to smile or not do it at all. That was what Sam had been telling himself for two and a half years now. "If you can't smile through it, do what Dad did, and leave him for somebody else to take care of. He deserves better. You're going to be the brother he deserves to have, or don't do it at all."

Sam put the tablet back where he found it and made his way to his own bed to cry. He tapped out a few words to Castiel and then there was nothing until morning.


	18. Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

Technically, Dean's insurance paid for eighty hours of in-home care per month. Sam supposed some people would use it for four hours a day, five days a week, and he could see the advantage to that. But it worked far better for him to get eight hours of rest twice a week. Of course, that left him four more hours every week. So every other Sunday, Carmen came to help for eight hours. Like he did when the therapist came for an hour or two every few afternoons, Sam usually spent this time napping. Instead of her usual six to two shift, on Sundays, Carmen was there from three to eleven, since she worked Monday mornings elsewhere.

Most Sundays, he watched a movie and crashed several hours earlier than normal. There had even been a few Sundays when he was so desperate for sleep that he called Carmen in and paid her out of pocket.

This Sunday, though, Sam asked for a special favor.

"Please. Please, I don't care what you do, but please can you take him out for a few hours? I'll pay for you guys to go to a movie and get dinner someplace. Anywhere you want. Please?"

She had burst into laughter. "Sam, I think it would be good for Dean to get out today. You don't have to bribe me to get out of your hair so you can have your boyfriend over."

He felt the heat rising under his collar, and he cleared his throat. "Thanks."

She giggled at him. "I'll take him to the war museum. He likes that. And then we'll take our time getting dinner."

"Thank you." Sam sifted through his wallet for the cash he had pulled out of the ATM on the last grocery trip. "I mean, if he gets tired, or doesn't want to go, or-"

"Sam! Stop. It's fine. Pretty sure I'm the one who told you to go get laid a few months back. If you're only now getting around to that, I'm certainly not going to let Dean cockblock you without even knowing it."

Now he was blushing so badly that he was beginning to blush just because he was embarrassed by how much he was blushing. "It isn't...I mean, we've...just not..."

Carmen winked at him. "It's okay, Sam. Your brother has already filled me in on how bad you are at flirting," she teased.

"Hey!"

She snickered to herself, but nodded. "No worries, Sam. We'll be gone by five." She turned serious then. "But you know we're probably going to be back by nine. I'll keep him out longer if he's up to it, but he's usually wiped out by then."

"No, I know. That's no problem. Thank you, Carmen."

She nodded. "I'll text you if we need to come back before that."

He smiled his gratitude for the thoughtfulness, and handed her the cash. "Use as much as you need. It's my bonus money, and if all goes well, it will be worth every penny to have the place to myself for a few hours."

This time, Carmen laughed at him, but pecked him on the cheek too. "Good luck. And...Sam?"

His mind was already far away, but he dragged it back when he heard her tone. "Yeah?"

"You, um, you know how I've been calling Dean each morning and telling him, word for word, what he asked me to say the night before."

"Yeah. It seems to really help him."

"Yes, but..." She bit her lip, then sighed. "I've been waiting to remind him of one thing until I thought you might be up to dealing with it. Because he has a question for you, and he made me promise to help him make a new recording, a new video for himself, once he knows the answer. So he won't ever have to ask you again."

Sam licked his lips, and nodded.

She gave him a sad smile. "I'm guessing you already know what I'm going to say."

He sighed heavily. "I've answered him three hundred times, and I've made a new story up most of them, because the truth sucks. But if he's going to record it...I guess I better give him the real story." He met her eyes from under his hair.

"That's up to you," she said quietly. "But he wants to know where his dad is. And I won't lie to him, but I don't know either, so I'll believe whatever you say to him. Whatever you tell him will be his truth for as long as I'm around."

Sam watched her for a long moment. "Thank you. For giving me some warning first. I wouldn't have realized he planned to record the story, and I might have said anything." He laughed suddenly. "I actually told him once that Dad was the reason he was alive, that he made a deal with a demon, sold his soul so Dean didn't die. I've become a pretty adroit liar. He rolled his eyes at me, but the last thing he said to me before he went to bed was he'd like to hunt the demon that got Dad. I told him I'd do some research on it."

Carmen shook her head at him. "You certainly never stopped being a little brother, did you?"

He chuckled. "You two have fun tonight."

"You too," she sent back in a melody.

Sam grinned at her.

***

Castiel noticed the walls first thing. "Môj úbohý zlato! It's all white!"

Sam laughed. "What did you just call me?"

The man sighed dramatically. "My poor thing!"

"No, no. You keep saying _zlato_. What is that?"

Castiel smiled up at him affectionately. "It's...it's like...I don't know. It means gold. Golden. It's like saying sweetheart. Or honey. It's just an endearment lots of people use. But golden...I've never known anyone who deserved to be called my zlato like you. Gold is valuable. Gold is beautiful. It's strong, but soft. It's precious. Zlato. Môj zlatý človek."

"That's so cheesy."

His lover shrugged, undeterred. "Maybe. But it's true."

Sam lead him to the couches and they sat. "So?" he murmured as he put his hand on Castiel's cheek. "What do I call you?"

"Anything. Anything at all, and I'll come running." Castiel leaned in to kiss him tenderly. The tips of his long, adept fingers painted lines along Sam's throat so gently that he could have believed it was one of the artist's brushes instead.

Sam shivered with pleasure.

"My poor Sam. I had always pictured you surrounded in color. Why are you closed into a colorless life?"

He had never thought of this apartment as his. It was Dean's apartment, even now that he paid the rent. He shrugged. "I can't change stuff on Dean like that. I tried once, and it gave him such horrible disorientation...It was bad. Real bad."

Castiel nodded, his blue eyes searching Sam's with sympathy. "But your space. You have color there."

Sam huffed with forced humor. "Not really. I was so freaked out by Dean's reaction to that wall right there that I never tried anything else. Not even in my room."

The artist took on a look of dread. "Show me," he hissed.

He laughed, and they both stood. He lead Castiel to the bedroom, and revealed the lack of imagination inside. "I'm never in here except to sleep," he said in his own defense.

"It's no wonder! This is the least Sam-like room I've ever been in."

Sam burst into laughter at the very serious horror and disapproval in the man's voice. "Sam-like? What the hell is that?"

"Clearly you don't have any idea!" Castiel complained. He began wandering the room, letting his fingers explore the walls, and the furniture.

It took a few minutes of leaning in the doorway and watching in amusement before Sam realized Castiel was taking measurements with his hands and eyes. "What are you doing?" he laughed in exasperation.

"Saving you from yourself. Hush. I'm doing math."

Sam snickered.

Castiel's black hoodie came off, and was tossed carelessly onto the desk chair. Sam drew in an appreciative breath and sighed it out as he got his view of Castiel's tattooed arms, and the bits of ink peeking out of the back of his black tee shirt collar. The artist continued to work his way around the room, muttering to himself with a mix of English and Slovak.

"Am I hopeless, doc?" Sam teased.

"Nearly," Castiel shot back. Then he smiled. "But fortunately, you have me to do what's best for you. I'm coming over this week to paint in here. It'll be healthier for you. And I'm going to do something about those awful white walls out there in the living area."

Sam shook his head, suddenly sober. "No, Cas! It has to-"

"Be white. I understand. But I've been painting houses and offices and shops for years. I know every variety of white that exists. They aren't all so painful. And I'll find one that's better for you and your brother, but that he won't be jarred by. Texture wouldn't hurt either. I'll take care of you, and Dean will be just fine. Trust me."

The smile was back. "I do," he breathed with adoration.

Castiel was examining the walls, but now he turned to Sam. "You should, zlato," he responded. "I'll never do anything to hurt you."

Sam let his arms encircle his lover. He held him close, enjoying his heat.

The artist pulled them both toward the bed. "Sam," he murmured through breathless kisses. "Sam, let me touch you. Please, zlato, let me touch you." He begged and pulled until he had Sam sprawled on his own bed.

Sam realized this was the first time they were seeing one another in clear daylight. Unlike in the flickering candlelight, he could see Castiel's colors in all their glory now. He tugged on the man's tee shirt like a toddler. "Off?"

Castiel knelt over him, and pulled the shirt over his head, giving Sam a lovely display of lean muscle. He laughed, suddenly self-conscious under Sam's unyielding stare. "You've seen me," he reminded him quietly.

"Not like this. Not in the light where I can see how incredible you are." He saw the way Castiel was rubbing his hands, almost like one hand was massaging the other. "Are you all right?"

Blue eyes lowered to find what Sam was addressing. "Oh. Yeah. I'm fine. I just really want my hands on you."

Sam laughed, but he made a mental note to bring it up again later. "I want that too."

Castiel did not need to be told twice. He grinned, and went to work undressing them both. Sam could tell the man liked this part, so he did not rush him. For the first time in his life, he let a situation be as awkward as it was supposed to be without trying to fix it. Tugging off socks was not meant to be sexy. But it was fun, and he lay back to enjoy the experience of being disrobed by someone who clearly got so much pleasure from the reveal of the dancer's skin. And the hands worked unceasingly to caress, to reassure, to worship.

God, Castiel's hands.

"I'm starting to think you are way too experienced at this."

Castiel grinned. "And I'm starting to think you are entirely too easy to please."

He laughed, and lifted his head to watch Castiel work his own clothes off. It was a beautiful sight. Sam was a dancer. He knew his own body was strong. Maybe not the way it used to be, but he was proud of the way it looked and felt. But Castiel. Castiel was gorgeous. Castiel was a painted canvas, and what a canvas it was! Sam sighed happily.

"Sam? Tuesday after your brother left, and then Thursday...But today..."

Words were not the medium either of them would prefer to be using for expression. But Sam knew what Castiel meant. "Yes. I'd like that too. I've wanted to make love to you since we met. I'm good with my mouth, and you're amazing with those hands. But let's go where we want this time."

Castiel was flushing all over with quiet excitement. His blue eyes were nearly black with want. "You have a preference?" he asked gently, in a voice becoming impossibly deep.

"I'll switch if you will. We've got about four hours before we need to think about having clothes on. I want to use every minute. I want you in me and on me, and all over me."

The other man's eyes went wide with lust. "Bože môj, zlato," he groaned breathlessly. "You are everything I have ever wanted."

Sam grinned at him. "Then come get me."

The blue gaze was feral, smile pulled back to reveal hungry teeth. Without another word, Castiel pounced to claim him, and Sam's world filled with colors he had never known before.


	19. We Know Nothing About Carmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

Dean was laughing. It was probably the happiest sight in the world, the way Dean let loose all tension and worries and filled the air around them with charismatic, infectious laughter. He seemed to use his entire body, and it took her breath away.

Carmen smirked at him. "You don't need to take my suffering so hard," she said dryly.

"No, I..." Dean tried to calm himself, and settled into giggling, which was just as bad, and just as adorable. "No, I'm sorry. I don't mean to..." He reached for his water glass and used it to find control. Then the put it back down and only a single beat passed before he burst into renewed laughter.

She threw her hands in the air, chuckling with him. "It wasn't my fault! It's part of my job! I didn't think much of it!"

"You shaved a guy...down there...because another nurse told you to prep him for surgery. And you didn't think to ask what the surgery was?"

She giggled. "Okay, I was still in the hazing stage back then. So the guy was getting his knee worked on. I didn't know! I do what I'm told, and he was already under, so he couldn't tell me. We're lucky he didn't sue the hospital. It violated like every possible ethics code, not to mention common sense. The head nurse managed to convince him it was precautionary, and perfectly normal procedure."

Dean cackled. "That's horrible!"

"I was known as Credulous Carmen for the rest of my internship. I even still have a badge that lists Cred as my title."

"I didn't know nurses hazed one another."

"It's brutal. Especially for the young, stupid ones like me."

Dean shook his head in disbelief. "Young, okay, but stupid? You've got to be kidding."

She shrugged. "I'm..." Her voice faded off as she saw a figure seated just a table away from theirs. She closed her eyes briefly as she realized the man had noticed her too. She cleared her throat. "Um, so, anyway, I'm taking the rest of this to go. It's such a nice night out. Mind if we go for a walk? Bill's paid."

Green eyes watched her, but Dean nodded. "Yeah. That would be good."

She lowered her own gaze, and picked up their bag of leftovers. "The waiter probably wants his table back anyway."

As she turned away from him, standing clumsily, Dean touched her elbow. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah!" She smiled at him with a confidence she did not feel just then. "I'm good. Come on."

They had gotten out the door when she heard his voice.

"Carmen! Carmen, that you?"

She flinched. It was amazing that he could still make her do that after all this time. "Brady! Yeah. Hi."

Dean's gaze went from the blond man to Carmen's face. "You know him?"

Brady laughed in that horrible way that was completely devoid of humor. "Know me? Of course she knows me."

Carmen sighed. "Brady, we're leaving."

"This who you're fucking now, you pretty slut? Never mentioned me to your new friend? Or have you spent too much time with your mouth full to do any talking?"

From the periphery of her lowered eyes, Carmen could see Dean's face contort into fury.

"Yeah, that's the way to do it, buddy. God, you let her talk, and it's all just bitching, am I right? Watch her, man. She used to be mine, so I know better than anybody. She's never happy with one guy for too long. I'm just saying. You'll need to keep her in line, or the slut will be out looking for-"

Before Carmen could react, Dean was on him. If Brady had not been so intent upon watching for her reaction to his words, he might have seen that Dean was about to snap and braced himself. Instead, he dropped in a heap, with Dean's fist flying into his face.

Carmen had never seen anyone move so fast.

When, after three brutal blows to the face, it became clear that Brady was not going to be able to defend himself, Dean backed off and stood over him, chest heaving and loathing in his eyes.

"Stay down," Dean advised in a dangerously calm voice. "I'm going to set the record straight for you, you son of a bitch. This woman was never yours. No woman has ever been yours. You don't own anyone. And don't you ever try to intimidate or humiliate her again. I don't got a lot to lose, buddy. Don't tempt me."

Brady was shouting now, and people were beginning to gather around to watch. "That whore? You're defending that whore?" Brady huffed a laugh through his bloody nose. "You'll see! Give it time, man! You'll see how the bitch operates! You'll wish you had listened! You're just the latest in a long line, my friend!"

Dean shook his head in disgust. "You aren't my friend. And I've heard enough. Don't push me, jackass. Leave her alone or I'll paint that wall with you. She said she wants to leave. I'm going to make sure you don't bother her."

Brady climbed to his feet and turned to Carmen. "Tell him, slut! Tell him!" He grabbed Carmen's arm.

She was already shaking, and when Brady touched her, fear struck her so violently that she burst into tears. "Let me go!" she wailed.

Carmen Porter was a woman of confidence and strength. She was independent. She was capable. She was smart and lovely.

All of that drained into the cracked sidewalk as Tyson Brady put his hands on her again. Shame filled her chest until she was drowning in it. She could not breathe, and she hated herself for the words she heard screaming from her own lips.

"Dean, please!"

Carmen Porter did not need anyone. She was strong and brilliant. She didn't need to be taken care of.

Brady had ripped that from her with a touch.

Carmen dropped to the ground as Dean made good on his promise. She sobbed until a set of hands was lifting her to her feet and helping her away from the violence.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured desperately. "He didn't hurt me. I shouldn't have...I'm so sorry. This is all my fault!"

Dean was being pulled off of the man on the ground, and someone was yelling about an ambulance.

Carmen felt a pat on her arm, and she finally turned to see who it was providing her comfort. Two women stood over her.

"Nothing about this is your fault," the younger woman assured her.

The older woman was speaking sternly while she watched Dean allow himself to be pulled away. But it was in another language.

The woman in her early twenties translated. "My babička says you are never to apologize for the actions of a man. You cannot make a man do anything. They choose what they do, just as a woman does. She says...she says to say he did not hurt you is ridiculous because he clearly has hurt you. And a woman should never be touched without her permission, and never in anger."

Carmen's lips trembled, and she gulped in a deep breath. "He used to hurt me," she whispered. She could taste the tears on her lips. "I was so stupid. I was so pathetic."

The young woman provided translation for her companion, who frowned and put her arms around Carmen gently. "She says that is not your fault either, and she is proud of you for having...having removed him from your life. She says that every time a woman chooses to stand up for herself, she is even more proud to be a woman."

"I didn't," Carmen confessed, holding the older woman tight. "Not for a long time. Even my mother said I would be stupid to leave him, that his money would make everything else worth it. I don't care about money. I just don't want to be afraid."

Dean shoved his way toward her. "Police will want to talk to me. Are you all right?"

"Dean, go. Go home. I'll talk to the police. I'll say you were just some stranger who heard Brady talking to me, that I don't know who you are."

He frowned. "Why would I do that? Carmen, I'm not leaving you here. That son of a bitch scared you. I'm not-"

She was shaking so badly that the two strangers were practically holding her up. But she shook her head. "Dean, stop it! I'm not your friend! I'm your nurse! You're not my friend! You're just my patient! Stop acting like you care about me when we both know you won't even know me two days from now!"

She could not have slapped him across the face hard enough to have produced that expression of hurt. He shook his head slowly.

But she continued sobbing. "You know nothing about me, Dean! Every word he said might be true! You don't know!"

"I do know!" Dean roared back.

Both women took a step to place themselves between the two.

Dean sighed in frustration, and lowered his voice. "Carmen?"

She closed her eyes.

"Carmen, that man thinks you were once his. That's all I need to know. I don't care what else he has to say. I don't need to know you to know that he's wrong. I'm sorry if you didn't want me to hit him, but you called to me, and I can't ignore that. You did call to me. He was scaring you. I don't know what happened between you, before today, but that doesn't really matter, does it? He scared you today, and he did it to hurt you. That's all I need to know."

She moved past her female protectors and threw her arms around him. "Dean, I'm so sorry!"

He held her, and nodded. "Carmen, you can be whatever you need to be to me. I'll always be a friend to you. I won't remember at first. But that doesn't change anything. I'm your friend. And that guy is a tool." He smiled a little, and shrugged. "So you may as well call Sam and tell him I'm about to be detained by the cops, and he'll have to come get me. Because I'm not leaving you here alone, not when I can see you're still scared."

The young woman smiled at them and introduced herself. "I'm Hana, and this is Andela. And if you need a witness, we're happy to give the story from our perspective."

The older woman waited for the translation, then winked at Carmen. "Woman," she said in heavily accented English. "Strong together."

Carmen gave them grateful smiles, and began to cry again.


	20. Angry Devotion

Castiel awoke and stretched lazily when Sam moved. "What's wrong-"

"What time is it?" Sam squirmed until he could reach his phone. "It's almost midnight!"

Blue eyes narrowed. "Are you kicking me out?" he asked sleepily.

"No, I-No. But my brother should have come home by now." Sam leapt from the bed and climbed into a pair of pants.

"Maybe they came home and didn't want to bother you."

"Dean always wants to bother me." He looked back at his lover before grabbing the door knob. "You going to put on clothes?"

"Oh." The man slipped out of the covers, and crashed to the floor as one foot became entangled. He lay, stunned, with one leg attached to the bed, and the rest of him sprawled on Sam's carpet, entirely naked.

Sam's tension eased into fond amusement. "You okay?"

"Yes."

He approached and offered his hand to help Castiel up. "I think I love you, Cas."

"I'm glad," he mumbled as he untangled himself from the bedsheets.

"You better stick to painting. I'm not seeing dance in your future."

"Me neither." He pulled on his own pants and sighed. "Give me a street fight any day, but a dance, especially after having been in a warm sex coma? Not a chance."

Sam kissed his head and hurried from the door.

Castiel sighed and followed, willing his limbs to wake up and obey him. He glanced at the walls on his way out. His mind was buzzing with possibilities. Castiel's mind was always working, always stretching his attention toward the most challenging puzzle within its reach. Even while suffering-enjoying?-the lingering effects of Sam's attention over several hours, he found himself calculating the exact hues and measurements of his new project.

Just as he emerged from the bedroom, while doing mental math and enjoying the view of Sam's muscular back, the door to the apartment was opened with a key.

Sam let out a sigh of relief, before gasping it back in at the sight of the blood on Dean's clothes. "Dean!"

Carmen put her hand up. The woman looked entirely exhausted, but she managed a small smile. "Not his blood!" she said quickly.

The younger brother gaped at her. "Is that supposed to make this okay?"

Dean frowned at him. "Who the hell is that?"

Castiel swallowed hard. "I'm..."

But Sam was not deterred. "What the hell happened? Where have you been?"

"Did you use my apartment for sex?"

Hazel eyes flashed in annoyance. "It's my apartment too. Shut up. Carmen?"

"It wasn't...There was this guy."

"Clearly!" Sam shouted.

Carmen's jaw clenched, and it was obvious to Castiel that she was completely done. That was an exact replica of Hana's done face. "If you'll let me tell you..."

"Is nobody else seeing the half-naked guy with the tats in my living room?"

"Shut up!" Sam barked. He turned to Carmen expectantly.

"Sam, môj zlato, maybe you should calm-"

He glowered at Castiel. "Stay out of this."

Dean threw his hands in the air. "Who are you?"

"There was a guy, a guy I used to date. I was engaged to be married to him in fact-"

"You were going to marry that douche?"

Carmen turned her glare on Dean now.

"Sam, I'm going to find my shirt. Byť v pokoji, zlato."

"He was bothering me, and he grabbed me, and Dean-"

"Sam, are you dating a Czech thug?"

Castiel turned to square his shoulders with Dean's. "I'm Slovak, tých psom, and you're the one wearing somebody else's blood."

"I can add some of yours if you like!"

Castiel snarled at him before he could catch himself.

"Stop it!" Carmen screamed. "Would all three of you just stop! Sam, your brother stepped in when a guy who used to beat the shit out of me came at me while we were out. We had to talk to the police, but there won't be charges, not unless Brady wants me to break out some of my old photographs. So it's over now, and I really don't feel like driving home, so I'm going to sleep on the couch, and I can't do that while you're all screaming. Dean, stop glaring. Cas is a good guy, and you like him. Sam, stop growling. Your brother is fine, and he may have lost his temper, but it was because he was looking after me. And, Cas, knock it off. You know Dean doesn't care where your family is from. He said that because he's trying to bait your temper-as if he has any right to do that, considering his own anger issues-and it worked. So you stop growling too. Sam, you can fire me in the morning if you want, but right now, I need to get some sleep. So you boys go to your rooms and leave me and each other alone."

The men were silent.

Finally, Sam spoke up. "Carmen, I'm sorry. I just get so worried about him. I'm glad he was with you when this guy showed up. Are you all right?"

"I'm tired!" she reminded him in an exasperated wail, tears sparkling in her pretty eyes.

Castiel watched as Dean dove to wrap strong arms around her. "Hey, hey. It's okay. Come on. You can sleep in my bed, and I'll take the couch."

She sniffed. "No, Dean. There is zero chance of you not losing your memories tonight. You're worn out. You'll wake up disoriented and-"

"And so let me be disoriented!" the man argued. "I won't sleep in my bed tonight knowing you're on my couch. You need to not feel exposed right now."

Castiel could feel the emotion coming off Carmen in waves. He filed the feeling into the part of his brain that stored future artwork. He added to it the look of concern and devotion on Dean's face.

She was weeping quietly now, and she pressed into his arms. "That's...that's it exactly," she breathed. "Exposed. Humiliated. I feel like the two men I care most about in the world have just seen the ugliest part of me, and I just want to crawl away and hide."

Sam cringed at her words, but Dean spoke first.

He held her head against his chest gently. "Carmen, if this is you at your ugliest? You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known. You see my ugliest every day you're here, and they're pretty damn ugly. This guy doesn't deserve to be able to manipulate how you feel about yourself."

She looked up at him. "Thank you. You're a good man, Dean."

"No, but I'm a man, which is more than you can say about that monster who tried to put his dirty paws on you earlier. He thinks he knows you better than I do. He doesn't. And I just met you today."

This pulled a thick laugh and a sniff from Carmen. "Thank you," she said again. "I think I will take the bed."

"Good. Sam, we got any extra sheets?"

"I know where they are." Carmen touched his cheek gently, then disappeared into the hall to prepare for bed.

Castiel smiled to himself. He took a step toward the man. "Dean, that was-"

Sam's arm shot out to block Castiel from taking another step. "Wait," he advised in a low voice.

Castiel blinked at him, but then he saw that Dean had whirled on his heel and was throwing a clenched fist into the stark white wall, then another. A small hole was left behind.

Castiel stared at him.

He smacked his palm into the wall now, then turned on his brother. He pointed vaguely toward where Carmen had gone. His voice was a quiet, gruff hiss. "That man," he snarled at Sam, "that man shouldn't be allowed to look at her! That man should have his tongue ripped out and his face kicked in! I could have killed him! The things he said-And then he touched her! Sammy, I have never been so angry in my life! That son of a bitch touched her, and scared her, and she yelled for me, and I just lost it! Sam, I was so angry I could have killed that man. Son of a bitch!"

"Shh!" Sam hissed back.

Dean's voice got lower, but the rage was still there. "He touched her, and made her scream for me. I could have killed him. And, Sam, that guy..." He was breathing heavily, chest pumping pain and air through him. "That guy had what I will never have. He had a chance to be something to that woman. He had the opportunity to be everything to her! And he used it to make her feel like...like that! I can't..."

"Dean," Sam sighed miserably.

"I'll never have the chance he got, to take care of her and keep her safe. It ain't right, Sam! A woman like that...How could anybody not see she...she should be...It makes me so angry!"

Castiel licked his lips. "She said you two were the people she cared about most," he reminded Dean gently.

Dean nodded then, and swiped at his eyes. His knuckles were cut, but Castiel did not think it was bad. "Yeah," he muttered. "But she deserves somebody who can care about her too. Not some moron who isn't even going to know who she is in the morning."

Sam's eyes closed briefly. "Dean, she's family. That's the best we can have. You and me? We can't have more than that. It would only lead to somebody getting hurt."

Castiel felt it like a physical blow. He had a hard time catching his breath. But he squeezed Sam's hand. "I'm going to sleep, if that's all right."

The dancer looked startled. "Cas! Cas, I didn't-"

He forced a smile onto his face and stood on his toes to kiss the man. "It's all right. I told you. I'll be there when you come to bed."

Sam sighed. "We'll talk?"

Castiel gave him a real smile now. "Of course, zlato. Good night, Dean."

Dean nodded without meeting his eyes.

He slid back into the blankets and the traitorous bedsheets. He lay his head on his hands, interlacing the long fingers.

Like he had done when he was a small child, and once or twice while lying in an empty cell, miserable and lonely, he murmured aloud to Andela, in Slovak.

"He thinks he's alone in this, babička. Thinks I can't possibly be a partner in all this. I can. I'm not my father. I'm not Sam's father. I'm not going to leave him to deal with all this alone. I love him, babička. And I love him more every minute. I like his brother. I like Carmen. You'd like her too, babička. She's strong enough to take care of these boys, but smart enough to let them take care of her too. Andela, he's the one who's worth all the risks. I'll prove to him that I'm not going to leave him alone. I don't care if it's hard. You told me to go make mistakes, and I promised I would. Sam is the most important mistake I can make, and if I fail, it'll be with my whole heart."

He could almost feel Andela's small frame embracing him, could almost hear her tell him she was proud.


	21. Solid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

Castiel was lying in bed, just as promised. Sam felt a strange relief, as if he had been afraid he would disappear. He smiled softly. 

"I like how you look like that," he murmured. 

The man looked up at him. "Like what?"

He chuckled. "Dancers, we get to where we are always entirely aware of our bodies."

Castiel smiled back. "Not so much for painters. We tend to forget the whole world isn't the canvas right in front of us. We have no idea what's going on around us. Some days I realize hours later that I'm completely covered in paint, and I had no idea."

Sam sat beside him on the bed. "You're lying back with your arms up like that, and your muscles are just gorgeous. You have a beautiful chest. I'm strong, and I'm athletic. But you're solid."

The other man laughed at this. "What's that mean?"

Sam could feel his smile fade and his voice became entirely filled with desperate longing. "You're solid," he repeated. "I've never...not since Dean was Dean all the time. I haven't had anything solid in a long time."

They were quiet for a moment, and Sam could feel the sting of fatigue behind his eyes. At last, Castiel spoke. 

"Sam," he murmured wearily, "zlato, please. Lie with me. Let me hold you."

His lips were trembling. "Maybe we should talk first?"

Castiel shook his head. The man was like cut marble in the moonlight. His eyes were so dark and deep, Sam finally understood the metaphor of falling into someone's gaze. "Sam, please. Láska moja, prosím. Let me hold you."

So Sam pushed beyond the panicking voice in his mind, and he pulled off his pants to climb into the bed. He was physically larger than Castiel, certainly. But his lover wrapped his arms about him, and he lay on the powerful, solid chest, and for the first time in a very long time, Sam suddenly felt safe and cared for. He let out a shuddered breath. 

"I'd like to say something, môj zlato. Please hear me out before you say anything."

"Will you keep holding me?"

"Forever. And that's what I want to talk about. Sam, I have never felt anything so strongly. I never felt so sure about anything. I want to be part of your life. I didn't realize how quickly you can fall in love when it's the right person. I want to be part of your life. I know what your life is, and I understand it isn't going to be easy. Dean will probably want to punch me most mornings, thinking I'm an intruder who's broken into the apartment."

Sam laughed, and the first of his tears splashed onto Castiel's bare chest. 

"And I've got my own family things. I can't stand that my babička lives alone. Hana technically lives there, but she's away for work so often that Andela is on her own for days. So I drop by most mornings and evenings when I can, and I adore her, but that's exhausting too. My cousins are all so absorbed in their own business to do much more than help her pay bills. Michal calls now and then, but that's it. It's me and Hana, and most of the time, it's just me."

Sam nodded. It was something Castiel had talked about before, when they had been on the phone. 

"Those thirteen weeks I was locked up, I couldn't check on her, and it made me crazy knowing she was worrying about me. I promised myself I would never put us through that again. I've had...opportunities offered to me, and they may have proved lucrative. But I won't do anything that's going to hurt my grandmother again."

"I'm glad." Sam said it quietly, but he guessed Castiel knew it was important to him too, that he could trust that those mistakes were going to be left in the past. 

The artist nodded and held him tighter. "I won't be the disappointment anymore, zlato. I promised her. And now I'm promising you. I am not going to run away because you have a difficult hand to play. Unless you tell me you are done with me, I'm not going anywhere. I'm smart enough to adjust to whatever you need. We will make this work, and no one will get hurt because you let me love you."

"My brother needs me," Sam whimpered. 

"And he will always need you. And you will have family like me and Carmen to help you care for him. I like him, Sam. And he's important to you. I'll never ask you to leave him behind, or even to put me or us before him. Dean will always come first for you. Zlato, you love him, so I will love him. And I will care for him as I would care for a brother of my own. But I'm going to care for you too, and I want you to let me do that without fighting it. Can you?"

Sam's eyes squeezed closed, forcing tears out. "Please. Cas, you don't really know what you're getting into. You'll make me love you completely, make me rely on you, and then you'll get tired of it all, and I'll be...Cas, I can't let you break me. Dean needs me."

"Please give me a chance, zlato. Let me prove that I'm solid enough."

He fell into sobs, and felt the strong arms hold him securely. "Cas," he moaned. 

"Sam, môj zlato, I want this. I want you. I even want your brother, because he's part of you. Please try. At least give me the chance to prove it will work."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then I'm not the man I want to be, and who my babička thinks I am, and I'll make it up to you somehow. Please let me try."

Sam sighed. "All right, Cas. Who doesn't love getting their heart broken? I want you so badly and I'm too tired to know better. I just want some color in my life."

Castiel hummed happily, and Sam could feel it in his chest. "Thank you, môj zlatý človek." They were quiet for a time before he spoke again. "I have to leave for work in about four hours, less if I want to stop by Andela's before I go."

Sam smiled into the man's skin as he anticipated what Castiel was getting at. "Almost not worth sleeping."

"Almost. And I feel like you've been a bit stressed."

"A bit," he agreed. 

"Someone once told me I have very talented hands."

He shivered with the suggestion in his lover's voice. "Prove it."

He could hear the smirk. "Vaše potešenie Je mi potešením," he whispered as his muscles reacted beneath Sam, to position himself. "My zlato's pleasure is my pleasure, and my zlato's needs are my orders. If color is what you want, tanečník, I will paint every part of you until you plead for gray."

Sam closed his eyes and breathed in a swell of excitement. "Never," he sighed. 

Castiel laughed, and set to work, challenge accepted.


	22. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

Dean stared at the black scrawl on the page until they gradually morphed into meaning.

_And Lot’s wife, of course, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human. So she was turned to a pillar of salt. So it goes. People aren’t supposed to look back. I’m certainly not going to do it anymore._

He sighed and lay the book down again. It took most of his remaining energy to piece together that much. He did not think he could keep going. Reading was tiring in a way that he would never have understood years ago. Now he wished he had read everything he could get his hands on before this accident had taken that from him. Reading had never been easy for Dean, but it had once been pleasurable. He had always read slowly. But now...now it was barely worth it.

"And I won't remember it anyway," he sighed. "I started this book a few days ago. Which means I've been reading it for two years." He tossed it on the table in frustration, and picked up the scrapbook instead. It was too difficult to read any of the articles right now, but he liked looking at the images of Sam smiling.

"Dean?"

He looked up. There in the doorway was the most incredible woman he would never remember. "Carmen. What do you need?"

She shrugged. She was in her jeans still, but wearing one of his tees, an old AC/DC concert shirt. It was gorgeous. "Company, I guess. If you're awake anyway."

He nodded, and moved over on the couch. "Yeah." He was dressed in boxers and a black tee shirt himself, but he figured she was not only a nurse; she was _his_ nurse. She had probably seen him in less.

Carmen lowered herself, and tucked her legs up under her. "What are you thinking about?"

He huffed. "Nothing," he lied.

She shook her head at him. He liked the way her hair fell when she did that. "No, Dean. Don't do that. We're friends, right? What are you thinking about?"

The green eyes glared at his hands on the scrapbook, and he laughed without humor. "Just thinking that I was stupid enough before getting brain damage. Didn't need to get shot to be a worthless idiot."

Her hand was touching his cheek now, and it nearly stung. "Dean!"

He closed his eyes. "You asked," he reminded her.

"Dean, how can you think that?"

He could hear how slowly he spoke now, could feel that the words just didn't come off his tongue the way they should, the way they always had before. It was humiliating. Sam was so smart. At least before, Dean could fake it well enough. Now, it must be painful for a guy like Sam to be in the same room with him. And this woman...

This woman was so...How could she stand to even speak to him? Why wasn't she disgusted by him?

Because she was a saint; that was why. A gorgeous, funny, sweet saint. An angel. An angel he would forget all about in a few hours. An angel he was already starting to forget about before she walked back into the room just now.

"It's just true. Listen to me. I haven't slurred like this since I was on tequila last."

"You're not...Dean, you're just tired. Your speech slows because you're-"

"Because I'm an idiot. Jesus, Carmen. You know I'm going to forget in an hour, so why do you bother pretending? Don't you ever just want to tell me the truth? Don't you ever just want to vent and know I won't know?" He ground his teeth together. "How does a woman like you stand to waste her time trying to take care of a man whose brain has been broken? I know Sam doesn't pay enough for that. Why am I even here anymore? I take up space, and that's it. What's the point?"

Carmen took a deep, shuddering breath. "Dean, please don't say that. You helped me today. You...you protected me."

He frowned a little, and blinked hard. Everything seemed very foggy. "I gave you a tee shirt. Which you look amazing in, by the way."

A giggle erupted from Carmen's lips in response. "Dean, that's not all you did for me today. Look at your hands."

He glanced down, and realized his knuckles were broken, and it looked as though they had been treated with ointment. "Did...did I hit someone?" Horror came over his face then. "Fuck! Carmen, did I hit you or Sam? Or...that other guy?"

She shook her head and took his hands in hers. "Shh. No. No, Dean. You hit someone who was hurting me. When he scared me, I called for you. I wouldn't have done that if you weren't someone I trust. And, Dean? You don't know me day to day, but you trust me too. Do you realize that? You don't form new memories, Dean, but you have developed some kind of instinct to trust me. It's pretty amazing. It's taken a long time, but some part of your brain is able to associate me with feeling trust. It will probably be the most you ever take from one day to another, but if I could choose anything, that would be it."

But Dean was having trouble following her speech. "You're talking too fast," he complained. "Did you say someone was trying to hurt you?"

She smiled at him, and he wasn't sure why she seemed so fond of him in that moment. "Now who would ever try that while Dean Winchester is there to look out for me?"

"Nobody smart," Dean stated firmly. "Carmen, I know I just met you, but I would kill anybody who tried to hurt you. Must sound crazy from a guy you barely know. But I would. Just thinking of somebody hurting you makes me so angry that I can't..." He shook his head and closed his eyes in frustration. "I'm sorry. You clearly don't need any guy to take care of you. I just met you. But I feel like you must be a real smart, real strong woman. I'm the last person a woman like you would need. Did you know I don't even...like, I can't even remember anything from one day to the next? It's true. I lose stuff, just in a few hours. I'm completely useless. Maybe you didn't know that. Like, if I told you I think you're beautiful and that I love everything about you? I'd forget I said it in no time. I...don't remember why. Must have been an accident or something..."

He could not identify the look in her eyes. But she was smiling, and touching his cheek with a soft hand, and...and he was very tired. He let her lead him to his bed, and tried to keep his eyes open so he didn't miss a moment of her beauty.

"Just met you," he heard himself mumble, "but I think Sam would like you. He's my kid brother. Away at dance school. You'd like him. Smart like you. So smart."

"Shh, Dean. Sleep now."

"Don't want to forget you," he breathed.

She sighed. "It's all right. Dean, it really is all right. You're going to forget, but you'll still be the same good man."

"Tired now. But you know, I get it."

"Get what?"

"Why you're the one."

She smiled, and said something, but he had already lost his battle, and it was just noise now. Lovely, melodic, comforting noise. And then he heard the angel watching over him begin to sing softly as she stroked his hair from his face. It was a song he could remember being sung by the only woman he had ever loved, and he wondered, as he swam into the deep end of his consciousness, how this angel knew he adored _Hey Jude_.


	23. The Other One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Papa Winchester.

Sam could hear Dean chattering from the kitchen.

"She looks like the scientist chick from _Komodo vs. Cobra_."

At this point, Sam had to mute his microphone. "Dude! That was the worst movie of all time! I'll never forgive you for making me watch it."

Dean shrugged. "But the scientist chick was hot. Oh! No, she looks like Catherine Rollins from _Hawaii Five-0_! That's who she looks like! You got me a nurse that looks like freaking Catherine Rollins!"

Sam shook his head. "Okay, man." He went back to finishing his call.

When he had hung up, he turned to find his brother staring out the window.

"You okay?"

"I want to ask you something. If you're done with...whatever you're doing."

He updated his call log and signed off for the evening. He was avoiding Dean's eyes, but he answered. "Yeah?"

"Dad. Tell me the truth about Dad."

"What about him?"

Green eyes cut to him sharply. "Sammy."

He sighed. He had thought perhaps Carmen would give him another day, considering how little sleep they had all gotten. Castiel had left the apartment by five, and Carmen had taken off by seven. Sam wanted nothing more than to pass out until it was Tuesday, and it was not even six in the evening. Dean had evidently spent his entire therapy session ignoring his exercises and rambling about the nurse he had just met that morning, who looked like some actress. The therapist had been annoyed.

"Sam."

"Yeah, okay. Listen. Sit, okay?" Sam waited. He closed his computer and formed his words before speaking again. "Dad's gone, man," he said quietly.

"Because I got hurt."

"Because he's a selfish bastard. There's...there's something we didn't know till you got hurt. See, a while back..." Sam would have given anything not to be telling Dean this. He should lie, his heart screamed. There was no reason for Dean to know the truth. None.

Except that it was the truth, and Dean wanted to know, and he had the right to that, no matter how much Sam preferred to protect him from it. No matter how much it hurt Sam to think of it himself.

"Remember how when we were kids, Dad took off during the week, but was home most weekends?"

"Yeah. He was a trucker, Sam. You can't blame him for-"

"No, it isn't that. No. I mean, on one of his trips, way back about fifteen years ago, he stopped in Minnesota. A place called Windom."

"So?"

"So he left something behind." Sam swallowed. "A son."

"That doesn't make any sense. You mean he left us behind at home."

He took a deep breath. "No. I mean, he mixed with the local wildlife and nine months later, a kid named Adam was born."

Dean's lips parted, and he stared in shock. "That's not...why would you make that up?"

"I'm not. Dean, he's had this other family. And when you were...when you got hurt, Dad decided the best thing was to put you in a mental health facility and go be a dad to that kid. I guess Adam was like twelve then. I was already packing and getting ready to come home to see how I could help. He called and told me not to bother. That you were in good enough hands, and he was heading out to start fresh. So I packed everything instead of just a weekend bag, and I didn't go back. And he didn't come back. And the only contact we've had was when you didn't know not to call him, and he broke your heart every time you tried."

"Good enough hands," Dean repeated softly.

The words hit Sam just as hard now as they had at the time. But he nodded. "That's what he said. And that's what they were. Good enough. You would have been taken care of well enough. And that's just not acceptable for my brother."

There was no explosion, no tears, no shouting. Dean simply nodded. "Thank you, Sammy," he murmured.

Sam frowned at him. "You all right?"

"Yeah."

He stared at the older man. "How are you okay? I just told you that Dad decided a kid he didn't raise was more important to him than the two he did."

Dean nodded again sadly. "Yeah. And it stings; don't get me wrong. But it doesn't surprise me as much as you might think. I remember my last conversation with Dad. He was done with me before I got shot, Sammy. I tried my whole life, but I've never been what that man wanted me to be. Maybe this other kid..." And finally, Sam could hear the emotion in his voice, choking him. But his nostrils flared in anger at his own reaction, and he made himself speak. "I hope this other kid is just what he wanted. I never was, no matter how hard I tried."

Sam's heart was breaking inside his chest. "Dean, I wasn't either. God knows I wasn't. Gay dancer? The guy was an ex-Marine. A mechanic turned trucker. Even when he was home, he was in the woods hunting with Jack, Jim and Jose. Dean, when I left for school, he told me if I was gonna go, I better never come back. You know what most people are when their kid gets a full ride to Julliard? Proud. Dad was just angry. You tried to be what the guy wanted our whole lives, and in the end, you chose to be what I needed instead, and it turns out, that's what you really were all along. You might not be John Winchester's boy, like you wanted to be. But you're my big brother. And I think that's what you do best."

Dean turned to him finally. He gave him a shaky smile. "I idolized the guy, tried to be just like him. But you-you are exactly like him."

He shook his head. "Dean, I'm nothing like Dad."

"Yeah you are. Strong-willed. Stubborn. Smart and passionate. I lived in that man's shadow our whole lives, and now yours. Thing is, it feels a lot better in yours. Like I'm support instead of in the way. Sam, I want something. Is that...okay?"

"Whatever you need," he promised.

He took a breath and wandered toward the kitchen. "I know I can't work a job. And my hands...I don't know, they aren't as strong as they should be. But I want you to take me to get something broken."

"What?"

"Dad taught me a lot about cars and things. I don't think he ever thought I was smart enough to really do much. But he taught me. Thing is, I used to actually be good at it. Fixing things. When he left for four or five days at a time, I had to fix everything in that house a dozen times. I know my hands ain't what they used to be, but before you got up this morning, before Carmen left? I had to tinker with the dishwasher to get it working right. And I realized it's something I can still do. Figure stuff out with my hands. Probably takes me a lot longer than it used to. But..."

Sam was smiling at him. "I'm glad, man. Yeah. Let me think on that a while. You sure it won't wear you out to focus on something like that for too long?"

"I gotta do something, man. I can't keep feeling useless like this. Maybe I won't remember in the morning, but you could just tell me you need me to work on something. I think...I think if I could feel like I'm good for something..."

Sam stood and threw his arms around his brother. "You are, Dean. I'm not here because I have to be, man. I'm here because you're everything to me." He pushed back to look in his eyes. "You want projects? I'll find you projects. But don't think for a minute that's what makes you good for something. You're my big brother, man. You're my best friend. And you're still the man I want to be one day."

Dean took a shuddering breath, and stepped back. "I hate that you gave everything up for me," he choked out vehemently.

"I don't," he said simply. "This is my life, and I love it." As the words came tumbling from his mouth, he realized that they were true. Things had gotten so much better in the past few months that it was true. "I could go out and dance if I wanted to, but that's a brutal world, Dean. Here? I got people who love me, and I never have to prove myself. My dance is just for me now. Only thing I want that I don't have is a permanent place to dance. But I'll figure that out. I'm happy, Dean. And I can't do it without my brother. I don't want to do it without my brother."

The smile was the same slow, charismatic grin Sam had always loved, the one that promised trouble and teasing. "Yeah. And what about the thug I saw leaving your bedroom this morning?"

Sam's face flushed. "Jesus, man! Don't you ever sleep?"

Dean laughed. "Yeah. In fact, I'm going to call Carmen, then go lie down now. And when I get up, I want to hear all about the thug."

He smiled at him shyly from under his hair. "You'll like him, Dean."

"I probably already do. And I will again. Just remind me if I wanted to kick his ass."

Sam snickered. "Yeah, okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. The actress who played Carmen was in those things too.


	24. Bright White Angel Dreams

Over the next two weeks, Castiel came to understand that Sam had never been a very optimistic person. Hopeful perhaps. But not optimistic. He reassured the man daily of his growing love for him, and that he had no intention to run from those he was beginning to see as family.

"We're an old world family, zlato. The more the better. I'm used to having plenty of family. Even neighbors are brought into the fold. No one is safe from becoming a cousin if they're not careful," he laughed. "If Andela likes you, you are in for life. So it isn't so difficult for me to see myself helping you to care for your brother for a long time to come. Where we come from, adult children care for their rodičia a prarodičia; we don't just throw them into hospitals like here. It's the same for Dean. You don't get pushed out because you need extra help, not in my family, zlato. We hold you tighter."

Sam had expressed his appreciation for this policy as only Sam could. Castiel was beginning to feel that Sam was entirely too generous with his gratitude, but he would never be stupid enough to say so.

There was one member of his family, though, that he was thinking seriously about pushing out. Gabriel was making him crazy.

"Môj bože, Gabriel, I said I would help! You're like stará teta, hovering over me! Tomorrow! I get it!"

Gabriel was shaking his head. "If you don't show, I'll fire your ass. I need you there by-"

"By six! Yes! That's when I start work every day. It isn't any earlier than every other job. Haven't I said I'd be there? What's so important about this anyway? Ludvík know you're buying property?"

"Bought, and no. Well, yes. He knows now. But he didn't till I contracted him for some construction materials."

Castiel let an eyebrow peak in concern. "So you're buying property yourself. That's not your usual spôsob činnosti. I haven't agreed to do anything illegal," he reminded him.

Gabriel sighed. "You know, vy nevďačný spratek, most of what I do is perfectly above board. I've been running this city since you and Hana were in plienky back in Čadca, and yet you are the one with the criminal record. So shut up."

"I was caught and you weren't. That's all," Castiel grumbled.

"One day, you should ask yourself why you were caught. But not today. Today, you get some sleep. You're a one man crew, and I have a ton of work for you."

"Can I at least assume you're paying me, Gabriel?"

"You can assume you'll be compensated."

He heaved another sigh. "I can't buy zemiaky or maľovať with a couple of televisions with scratched out serials, Gabe."

"Potatoes and paints. Do you never dream bigger than that, little cousin?"

Castiel shrugged. "It's all I need. Food and paint get me through till the next day."

Gabriel nodded, and his eyes were softer than usual. "At least you've got me to dream for you," he said, almost to himself.

He snorted. "Why? Because you're giving me work? I haven't been without work since lock-up. It was hard to find work at first, with a record, but when I finally did, I've worked every week since. You made me quit, remember?"

Gabriel did not reply. "Be there, little cousin. I'm very serious."

He put his hands up. "Gabriel, you know me. If you need my help, I'm there. Unlike Ludvík and Michal, you don't try to lie to me about what I'm getting into. If it were illegal, you'd tell me."

"I would. I save my tricks for others, Castiel."

He gave him a shrug. "Then you know I'll be there. Stop worrying me about it."

That evening, he put the finishing touches on Sam's bedroom walls. The new white walls in the living area had caused no problem for Dean, but had softened the severity of the whole apartment. He had even convinced them to let him do a very mild chocolate brown coat over the moulding. Sam reported that all Dean had to say so far was that he had never noticed the brown before, but that he liked it. Castiel had been pleased. He had used a great deal of restraint in that space, and had used even more in Dean's bedroom, where he simply added a textured cream and resisted the urge to accent the moulding or the door.

But Sam's space was different. He threw his soul onto these walls, invoking everything he knew about his lover, and everything he wanted for him. The colors were meant to soak into him as he slept, to wrap him in security and love and sensual peace. They were rich colors, a quiet, thick rainstorm, washing away all but the best dreams for his zlato. It had taken many days, but he had finally finished.

Sam had cried, and thanked him. Castiel had laughed happily. "Now this is not meant to be here until the walls crumble down, my love. It will lose effect if it's there too long. When you are ready for me to change it, whether next week or next year, let me know."

Sam looked away from the walls to stare at him. "You're kidding, right? Cas, I would tear the walls down to save them if the building caught fire!"

He rolled into a ball of laughter on Sam's bed. "Zlato, no! It's meant to be an evolving, living space. I've already got ideas ready for next time you let me. Greens, zlato. We haven't even touched on greens!"

Sam was on him then, devouring his mouth and skin, leaving him gasping for breath. It was how Castiel wanted to die one day, suffocated by Sam's love.

But not today.

"Ty ohromné šteňa! Let me breathe!" he giggled. "I have to get home. I'm meeting my cousin at six in the morning."

"Stay!" Sam whined. "I want you to stay!"

He shook his head in disbelief. "Sam, you can't sleep in here tonight! What will your brother think when he wakes up in the morning and the two of us are piled on the living room floor?"

"I don't care," he stated stubbornly, and shoved his face into Castiel's stomach.

"Stop it! Zlato, no! I'm ticklish-Zlato, prestaň!" The rest was just babbling in Slovak until he was finally able to shove the dancer off the bed.

He should have known the man would land on his feet, literally.

"Okay," Castiel gasped. "Not an immense puppy," he corrected himself breathlessly. "A cat."

Sam laughed at him.

"But yes you do care!" Castiel argued as he sat up. "You don't want to throw Dean into an episode."

His lover shook his head. "That's not...The walls are different. He felt like he had walked into another apartment, couldn't figure out where he was when I painted the walls blue. With you, he'd just wonder who you are. Except he'll know who you are, because you'll be curled up with me on the floor. He won't know your name, but he'll know what you're here for."

Castiel grinned at him. "What am I here for?"

"What are you here for, Cas?" Sam repeated, staring up at him in wonder.

He pulled Sam back to the bed, and rolled him onto his back. He kissed him, took his sweet lip between his teeth, and tugged gently. He kissed his way along Sam's jawline to his ear, and flicked his tongue over the lobe, thrilling with the way the man groaned and pushed his whole body into him. By the time his lips and teeth found Sam's throat, the dancer was whining below him. He loved that. This strong, gorgeous work of art was opening up to him with his body and his desires, in a way Castiel knew he had never opened up for another person in his life. The trust and want in Sam's eyes were the most potent drug Castiel had ever experimented with. The colors of those eyes as they blew wide with lust were the greatest challenge of his artistic skills yet.

He undressed Sam carefully, taking his time even as Sam sought to hurry him. At last, he removed his own clothing, and placed reverent hands on Sam's skin.

"This is what I'm here for, zlato," he answered finally. "I'm here for this, for seeing the real you. For when you look at me that way, as if I haven't ever done anything wrong in my life. For how you make that sound like you want me, like I'm everything I was always supposed to be. I'm here for you at your most exposed, and your most beautiful. I'm here for all that passion that life couldn't crush, no matter what it threw at you."

Sam pushed their nakedness together and gave a keening whine. "Cas," he breathed.

"Do you believe in Heaven, Sam?" He lowered his mouth to Sam's chest and nipped his way across the most sensitive bits of the dancer's skin.

"I don't...What?" he cried, frustration pushing it out in a huff.

Castiel loved the way Sam could not focus on his words, even while he was professing his adoration of the man. "Heaven," he said again, and his hands lowered until Sam was gasping. "I'm Roman Catholic, you know," he teased.

"I can tell," Sam laughed breathlessly. "Yeah," he sputtered. "Yeah, okay. I don't know what I believe. That a problem?"

"No. I believe enough for us both. And I'll take you there one day. Even if I had to fly into the depths of Hell and fight off Lucifer himself, I would. I dreamed of that last night. Do you think I'm crazy?" His hands continued their ministrations, and Sam moaned out beneath him.

"If you are, I'm glad," he breathed. "Cas, why are you teasing me? Why are you talking about religion when you could be filling me?"

He sighed happily, but did not gain any urgency. "I told you. I had a dream about saving you from hellfire, and carrying you to Heaven where you belong."

Sam tried to laugh, but as Castiel tightened his grip on him, it came out as an annoyed whimper. "Why was I in Hell at all?"

He hummed. "I'm guessing it was all the thoughts you're having right now."

"Then you'll be in the fire with me, jackass," Sam pointed out.

"I'm devout. Trumps everything." At last, he dropped his mouth down to wrap his lips around Sam, and after all the calculated teasing, he was rewarded with Sam's obscene groan and a flood of salty pleasure pumping relentlessly into his throat. He smirked at Sam with his mouth still full, then released him gently. He licked his lips while Sam heaved his relief. "You said something about me filling you, I think. Still up for that?"

Sam whined again, and Castiel laughed at him. At last, the dancer smiled shakily. "Why do you do that?" he demanded in exasperation.

Blue eyes blinked in innocence. "Do what, zlato?"

"Don't zlato me! You know exactly what! You...you distract me! You try to make me think while you're...And then you just...I don't have any defense against that!"

He grinned at him, buzzing with pleasure. "Do you really want to defend against it, zlato?"

"I..." Sam sighed and closed his eyes. "No. You're just infuriating."

The artist giggled to himself. "Maybe. But you tasted like you liked it."

"God, you're amazing."

"You like it when I tease, Sam," he informed him quietly. There was adoration in his voice that he would not have been able to hide if he had wanted to. "You like being thrown off guard. You like having your attention split while you're on the rise. You like an abrupt finish. And, if I'm not mistaken, you seem to like my voice."

There came a soft, happy moan from the man now. "I do!" he cried.

Castiel laughed. "If I didn't throw you off with talk, you would control too much. I like it when you take control, môj zlato, but you don't have to always be the martyr. You can let someone take care of you now and then. If I don't tease a bit, you will try to plan every movement between us. Sex with me is an improvisation, môj žiarivý človek, not a choreographed scene."

Sam smirked at him. He lifted himself and shoved his lover onto his back, and straddled him. He reached into his side table for the lubricant and protection, but kept his eyes locked on Castiel's as his hands worked. The artist could tell how much satisfaction he was getting from seeing that Castiel was now the one off-balance between them. When Sam finally lowered himself to tease Castiel by pressing him against his opening, but not allowing him entrance, it was the painter's turn to fall to pieces.

"Môj bože, tie sú neuveriteľné," he heard himself babbling. "Prosím, láska. Pusti ma dnu."

"Oh? You don't want to?" He sighed and shrugged, and moved to lift himself again.

Castiel grabbed for him. "No! Nie prosím, zlato! Please!"

"Tell me what you want. And tell me in English." He lowered himself again, just enough to put pressure on Castiel.

He groaned madly. "I want...Ježiša!" He stuttered in Slovak as Sam began to move above him.

"I'm sorry. I still don't know what it is you want."

Castiel's long fingers pressed into Sam's hips. It was everything he could do to not roll them and slam into the man. "You, zlato!" he cried. "You! Please, zlato, let me in! I won't tease you anymore!"

Sam laughed. "Yes you will," he argued. "And you know why?" He dropped down to fill himself in one dramatic motion, and Castiel let loose a roar of relief and stinging pleasure as warmth closed over him. "Because I do like it," Sam finished.

There was little he could do beyond letting the waves crash over him. There was nothing-nothing!-that compared to being inside Sam. Castiel thought perhaps he would become used to the sensations after weeks passed, but he was still wholly, deliciously overwhelmed each time. Each time, his mind became nothing but colors and scents. Each time, the world narrowed until there was nothing in it but them and their ecstatic movement. "Veľmi ťa milujem," he mumbled. "Sam, zlato, I love you so much!" He could not help it. The intensity of Sam's eyes, and the building, gasping waves drowning him in pleasure, made it impossible to filter his thoughts. "Zlato, zlato, please. I want you forever. I want you to marry me, zlato, be with me always. Please, please! Oh!" And with one last wave came a whiteness Castiel had not known in all his years of painting, one he had only ever experienced while climaxing inside Sam. It wasn't like the severe white walls of Sam's last few years. It was brilliant, bright, gorgeous.

It was loud.

Sam was chuckling at him as the banging came on the wall.

"In case you two jackasses are under the impression I lost my hearing along with short-term memory when I was shot, let me clear that up right now!"

Castiel's eyes went wide, but Sam just continued to laugh. "Bite me, Dean!" he shouted back.

"Isn't that what he's for?" came the reply.

"Oh my god," Castiel muttered.

Sam giggled. "So you want to marry me, Bojovník?"

"I...What?" He tried to force his brain to process language again. "I what?"

His lover just kissed him and patted his cheek gently. "Let's risk breathing in the drying paint fumes and sleep in the bed."

"Yeah," Castiel murmured fuzzily. "Okay..."


	25. The Archangel

Castiel was running late.

He couldn't even blame Sam. It was his own, stupid tendency to let just anything fall out of his mouth. When he paid attention, he was extremely guarded in the way he said things. Telling Andela and Sam that he loved them had come only with great difficulty, no matter how true it was. But other times, when he let his guard down, or when he was particularly nervous, things just leapt from his tongue without a thought attached.

Just over two months into this whirlwind of passion with Sam, he had startled awake in the middle of the night with the realization that he had told his lover he wanted to marry him.

Sam Winchester, the most amazing human he had ever met, who danced like the world was careening into the sun, and protected his brother as though death itself could not separate them. The man who defined his life by what comfort he could bring others. Sam Winchester, the martyr with mischief in his eyes.

Well, it would be stupid to pretend he didn't want to marry him. That wasn't the problem. He had promised Sam he would take care of him and his family. And even for Castiel, who had been accepted as bisexual in his old world family, who had progressive views of family life...even for him, taking care of Sam, Dean and Carmen meant money.

Castiel had just quit the only job he had been able to find with his criminal record. One interviewer had come right out and told him that he would sooner hire a killer than a thief. Castiel had picked his pocket on his way out, then had left the wallet in the lost and found box he had seen on his way in. It had eased a bit of the frustration, but had gotten him no closer to work. When one of the Czech families had suggested he consider day labor, he had been relieved to discover that painting was an option and no one seemed interested in his background so long as he did his work well and efficiently.

It had paid well enough, and he knew if he increased his work load, he could pull in more. He would have to cut back his art allowance if he wanted to save anything significant, but that was just as well, because he would have no time to paint or draw if he were working more than he already was. If he were going to be able to prove to Sam and to himself that he would be able to take care of them all, he would need to make some changes. He needed to increase his income, build some savings, and put aside selfish things.

Castiel was not his father. He would take care of Sam and his family, and continue to look after Andela and Hana too. He could be the head of the family that his father should have been.

But first, he had to break it to Gabriel that his responsibilities were changing. He would not leave Gabriel hanging, of course. He would help his cousin with whatever scheme he was brewing this time, until he could find someone else. Then Castiel would go back to his old job, and maybe do side work as well, till he could get another, more permanent position. Day labor was fine when you only needed to look after yourself.

It wasn't that Sam needed looking after, he admitted silently as his motorcycle sped down the streets he knew so well. It was more that Castiel wanted the dancer to never have to worry about something so corporeal as money and bills. He wanted to be able to keep Carmen coming in to help as often as possible. He wanted Sam to enjoy the time he got with his brother, without worrying about being his nurse. If only they could hire Carmen full-time. That would allow Sam the freedom to be just a brother again. A brother, a lover, and perhaps once in a while remote tech support. That was all Sam should ever be for anyone else. Beyond that, Sam should be whatever he wanted. A dancer. A daydreamer. Obrovský a nádherné šteňa. Whatever he wanted, Sam should have the freedom to be that.

So he would do what his father had not. He would put aside his own insecurities and selfishness to care for his family. If he could show Sam he could do that, maybe...

"Prosím, Bože, prosím," he muttered softly as he hopped from his bike to hurry toward an impatient cousin in a three piece suit. "Please let him want me if I can do all that. Andela or no, I'll die if he won't have me, if I'm not enough. If I'm not good enough for môj sladký Sam, I'll never live to take another risk. I fell too far for this one."

Gabriel was chattering on the phone in Czech when he raced up the sidewalk to meet him. He looked livid.

Castiel sighed, and fought down a lump of anxiety. "Prepáč," he apologized quietly.

But Gabriel waved him off, and continued to threaten someone in flawless Czech. At last, he snarled in punctuation, and threw the phone into the street, where it was almost immediately crushed by a truck.

Castiel stared at him. "Gabe? Are you all right?"

In a blink, the dangerous wrath was gone, and the older man grinned instead. "Cassie! Glad you could make it. Finally."

He swallowed. "Your phone, Gabriel..."

His cousin waved his hand again. "Nah. It was Michal's phone. I needed a contact I knew he had, so I lifted it."

Blue eyes widened. "You lifted from Michal?"

Pale eyebrows peaked. "Wow. You know nothing about brothers, do you? What's it like only having a sister?"

"Um...less illegal. And yet far more invasive."

"Well, I once lifted Ludvík's credit card and bought a lifetime membership to every porn site I could find. For me. Not him."

"I, uh, assumed," Castiel stammered.

"Ludvík is my least favorite brother. Right after Michal."

"You only have two."

Gabriel shrugged. "Ready to get going? I'm a busy man. I have a Česká prasa to make squeal in an hour."

"Get going with what?"

The older man took hold of Castiel's face in one hand and turned it without mercy toward a building across the street.

Castiel gasped. "Wait. What are you...Did you buy that church?"

"Sure did, kiddo."

"Nemôžeš!" he shrieked.

The whiskey eyes narrowed, and there was some strange mix of amusement and annoyance peeking out of them. "Castiel," he said in a very quiet, chilling voice, "don't you ever tell me what I cannot do."

"What could have made you...?"

"Mladý bratranec, my brothers and me? Nobody makes us do anything."

He took a breath as the panic threatened to overtake him. "Gabe? Maybe...maybe you don't know, but this is the same space I told you about. It's the last block of the city, way out here, where only interstate traffic goes. It's...it's where I met Sam. It's where I meet Sam still. Prosím, Gabriel, tell me you didn't buy it!"

"Samozrejme! Why wouldn't I?"

Castiel wanted to burst into tears. He wanted to burst his knuckles on his cousin's face. "You can't!" he blurted out angrily. "I can paint anywhere, but it's Sam's space for dance!"

Gabriel put his hands in his pockets. His suit made him look like a mafián. Castiel hated it. "Cas?"

"How could you, Gabe? I thought you weren't like Ludvík and Michal! You took what I told you, about me and Sam, and you saw a profit in it somehow! Chod do riti, hajzel! You really made me leave my job to come help you tear down the place where I met my lover? You are a complete-"

"Language, Castiel!" Gabriel smirked.

He clenched his fists and closed his eyes. "Bite me," he snarled.

"Isn't that what he's for?" Gabriel was laughing now.

"This is just funny to you? I let you in. I took a risk and let you in, Gabriel, and you used me. Ja som naivný. I thought you cared about me. You cared about the information I gave you about a piece of property you could buy up cheap, demolish and sell. Is this just fun for you?"

"One? Yes. It is fun. And two? This is so not about profit. This joke's on you, dieťa bratranec. I'm not demolishing anything except that obnoxious self-righteous attitude of yours. I bought the place to turn it into a studio for your artsy ass!"

Castiel stared at him, uncomprehending. "Wait. For me? You bought it for me?"

"Yeah. And I've got plans to restore it. The city Historical Society is willing to provide consultants and grants to make it work. It will be restored meticulously on the outside. And on the inside, there will be a huge open space. On one side will be your supplies, whatever you need, and the other will be lined in mirrors and have a proper floor put in for-"

Castiel's arms were around him in an instant. "For Sam!" he cried out. "For my dancer! Oh, Gabriel!"

"You like?" The man was teasing now.

"I...Thank you so much! But..." He pushed away then and looked at him with suspicion.

Gabriel sighed. "Well, that didn't last long."

"But why, Gabriel? What do I have to do for you? What are you holding me to?"

"Cassie, I'm not telling you to trust me. But...give me a chance, okay? I taught you to steal in case you needed a trade to fall back on. But you're an excellent artist, hlupák. Besides, there's profit in it for me. That other property I told you about. It's in a prominent area. And it's freaking expensive, high rent district, you know? So I need you to get your ass busy painting your heart out, because when I open that gallery, I need plenty of original pieces and prints to sell immediately."

Castiel felt his mouth go dry. "Gal...the other property is going to be a..."

Gabriel looked smug now. "Yes, dumbass. It's going to stock your work, and a few other locals' and also a section of antique and handmade musical instruments from the family back home that made my horn."

His mouth dropped. "You're going to sell my work in the same space-on the same damn continent-as Hudobník instruments?"

"Not if you don't get busy!" Then his eyes softened as he saw the terror in his cousin's eyes. "Yes, Cassie. I'll be putting your work alongside Huboník violins, because that's where it belongs. If you still feel the need to tag a bridge now and then, fine, but otherwise, I want you to focus on pieces I can actually put a price tag on. I'll start by taking all the hidden canvases you have in that church already and make prints of them."

The blue eyes closed. "You've seen them?"

"Of course I've seen them. I'm a serious investor. You think I'm not going to do my research? Besides, who do you think runs the Archangel Graffiti site?"

All of the sudden, Castiel needed to sit down. He stumbled to an old bench nearby. "You're The Archangel?"

"Damn straight. Nobody else deserves to say he's 'over' The Angel. That's what archangel means, you know. Who do you think has been watching over you all this time, little Angel? Father Michal?"

His lips were trembling, but he laughed at the thought.

"And by the way, you should receive a call from your parole officer Ennis today."

Things were becoming surreal. "Ennis!" he blurted out. "Why? I mean, I've missed curfew a few times, but I haven't done anything-"

"No. You're in my custody. You have been for nearly two weeks now, at least so far as the judge knows. Michal had it changed over. Easy enough to do, no signatures even needed, when the mayor's wife has such an exploitable interest in illegally acquired accessories."

"I don't..."

"Dick Roman was more than happy to help us out. Michal pays generously for good, useable information like that. And I gently suggested he use it to help his cousin. So as your court-appointed daddy, I went ahead and opened a trust for you, to provide you with a steady income. Not much, mind you, but enough to account for making you quit your job. We'll call it a starting bonus. Then each time I sell one of your works, a portion will be added to it."

Castiel dropped his head into his hands. "I don't even know what to say."

"Well, when Ennis calls, I suggest saying thank you. Because he's going to tell you all about how you're receiving a pardon from the governor, who is a friend of Roman's, and who wants Roman on the ticket when he runs again."

The world was suddenly too bright. "Pardon?"

"Expunged record or whatever. I don't know. Gabriel Bojovník doesn't get arrested. I don't have to know what these things mean."

He stared at him. "Gabe, there's an important distinction-"

"It'll be like no charges were ever brought against you. Nobody can hold it over you anymore."

He couldn't breathe.

"Whoa! Whoa, kiddo. Relax. I'm not investing in an artist about to give himself a heart attack."

"The...the property," Castiel forced out finally. "I looked it up online. It was too expensive for me to even consider. Owned by the old board president for the congregation. Even if I could have found a way to buy it, I couldn't have fixed it up. It was condemned. I wanted to buy it, for-for Sam, so he could never get thrown out of it. But...Gabriel, why? Why are you doing this at all, and why are you including space for Sam too?"

The Archangel sat down beside him finally. "Cas, how's the search for your dad going? Let me guess. Awful."

Castiel squeezed his eyes closed. "After I was arrested, I stopped looking. Even if I found him now, I wouldn't want him to know me."

"Right. We're going to get to that. And in the meantime, when have any of us done anything for you? Ludvík? Michal? You've been on your own your whole life, taking care of Andela and Hana since you were old enough to put on your own shoes. And I love my family, Cassie. I love my brothers. But we're all a big bag of dicks. You make mistakes too, but you're always trying. It's time somebody gave you a chance. Not a chance like Ludvík and Michal keep trying to talk you into. A real chance. And if this dancer inspires you? He should be in your studio. Simple as that."

It was difficult to piece this together. He was beginning to wish he had taken notes. "So...you listened to my story about Sam and this church. You bought it for me. You held something over Michal so he forced his contacts to get my record wiped, but first had custody transferred so you could set up a trust for me, enabling me to quit my day job and paint full time. You are restoring the church and filling it as a studio for not only me, but my muse. And you're opening a gallery and selling my work along with the greatest string and wood instruments in the old world. You've been photographing and distributing my graffiti to the world for who knows how long, under the handle The Archangel, as if my work is something you're proud of..."

Gabriel waited.

"I don't understand."

The older man clapped him in the back of the head. "Hlupák," he said again. "You're trying my patience." He reached into his pocket and held out the two cards he found inside. "This is for your art supplies. You'll need to design the studio. Don't bankrupt me, dieťa. And I need to hire someone to manage the gallery. I have a woman in mind to work there, but I need someone who knows something about the art world in order to manage it." He raised his eyebrow. "Know anyone?"

Castiel was entirely breathless. "I don't know," he muttered. "But I'll find out."

"Good. I want to hire someone by tomorrow, because I would like that person to consult regarding the dancer's space in the studio and the business plan in general. For now, go into that burnt church across the street and figure out what you need inside in order to be productive. There is a lower level to it, in case you didn't know. I'll be creating a literal studio apartment. You wouldn't need anyplace else to live, unless you wanted, once it's done. I doubt you take up much room. Go on. Sketch out the space for me. This other card is for your living expenses. It is tied to your trust."

"Gabriel, how wealthy are you?"

It was asked in a meek voice, but his cousin laughed. "Never enough. And I protect my investments, mladý bratranec. So there will be a lengthy contract for you to sign the minute I can get Crowley on the job."

"Ježiša, Gabriel. Crowley? Makes my skin crawl."

"Mine too, but he's the best contract negotiator I've ever had, and he enforces quite well. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm supposed to be handling a delicate shipment arrangement in ten minutes."

Castiel grabbed him again as they both stood, and held him tight. "Thank you, Gabriel. Ďakujem. Som tak vďačný."

"Yeah, yeah. Get off me."

Castiel was still staring after him when he turned back around, halfway up the sidewalk to his car, and winked.

The Angel flew across the street into his place of inspiration, and let his mind and heart spin out in a thousand directions, from all around him.

Free. This was it. This was what free felt like.


	26. Fixing Broken Things

"Have you got everything this time?" Carmen laughed.

"Yes!" both Castiel and Sam shouted. They grabbed her and each kissed a cheek, then did the same to Hana, who giggled at them.

"Get going before you're late!"

Sam was biting his lip. "Carmen, if he starts to-"

"Sam Winchester, go! He's fine! If you miss your flight because you're too busy being worried that I can't handle everything while you're gone..."

The man threw his hands up. "No! No, I didn't say that. I know you can. I know you have everything under control. We're just going to be gone for three nights this time. I've never been away from him so long before. Maybe..." He glanced at Castiel.

"Môj boze, zlato. He's fine. Do you want to stay home? We'll stay home if you want us to."

From the corner her eye, Carmen could see Andela shaking her head at Sam, silently ordering him to go. At last, the dancer smiled. "No, no. I want to go. I recorded him a four minute video reminding him I'll be back. I'm just going to go say goodbye one more time and then we can get out."

Hana rolled her eyes and said something to her brother in Slovak, making him snicker. He responded, and although Carmen could not understand, she could tell by the tone that it was humor at Sam's expense.

"I heard that!" Sam called back from the hall.

"I love you, zlato!" Castiel reminded him quickly.

"I can tell!" came the laugh.

Carmen smiled happily. She glanced at Andela, who seemed more tired than usual. It had been a busy morning. "Andela, prosím, come sit with me on the couch." When she spoke slowly and clearly, Andela could usually understand well enough, though she could not always respond in English. But that didn't matter. Carmen was quite intuitive, and she and Andela had been communicating beautifully for months now, especially when Hana was around to assist.

"Prosím," Andela beamed, and joined her on the sofa.

A sense of pride filled Carmen every time Andela recognized that she was trying to use Slovak. She knew her accent was horrible, but Andela did not seem to care.

Andela was her patient, but, just like Dean, she had become so much more to Carmen. She had been estranged from her own family ever since she had chosen to break her engagement to Brady. Now she had a job she loved, in a home full of family, and she could not have been happier. Hana had become her sister, Andela her grandmother, and Sam and Castiel were her sweet brothers. She was even beginning to feel as though she had a cousin in that obnoxious Gabriel. And Dean...

For several months now, the first words from Dean's lips almost every morning were the same, said with a look of gorgeous awe and hope.

"I love you, don't I? Who are you?"

Every life and every love is different. This was certainly not the life or love her mother had planned out for her. But she had tried that other life, and had been miserable. Now she was surrounded by real love, and she was critical to this family. Her family. It was because of her that Sam had found Castiel. It was because of her Sam had been able to go back to dancing. It was because of her that Castiel was such a success as a new young artist. She was the one who had set it all in motion and she was the one who kept the wheels turning.

Every life and love is different, and Carmen was deeply, wholly satisfied with hers. She loved being needed, and she loved being appreciated. These people, in this piecemeal family, they never forgot to be grateful for her work or her friendship.

Dean would never forget to be grateful. And his was the most obviously genuine gratitude, since it was constant and renewed with every wash of memories. Dean had managed to develop feelings associated with her that were not tied to the formation of memory. And she loved him.

She would never be a wife and mother like her own mother had expected her to be. But she had never truly wanted that herself, and she was finally free to admit that. It was a relief unlike any she had ever felt.

When she had realized she needed to quit as Dean's nurse, she had been devastated. She loved her job. But it was no longer ethical the moment Dean had told her he loved her, and she knew in her heart it was reciprocal. She had cried when she told Sam and Castiel. The two men glanced at one another, and seemed to have a silent conversation between them. Then Sam had nodded. "It's up to you, Angel."

Castiel had taken her trembling hand. "Carmen, my sister and I have been talking. Andela, our grandmother, she's getting to where we really would feel better if she had someone with her all the time. And there's no one in the world I would trust with my babička like you. And you know she and Hana love you."

Carmen had stared at him. "I...I adore your grandmother, Castiel. You know that. But..."

"And between her insurance and the five cousins, we have the means now to hire someone not just full time. We want someone willing to live-in."

Her lips parted in surprise. "I've never..."

Sam spoke up then. "And things are going really well with the gallery. We want to participate in some trade fairs regionally. But we can't do that unless someone is with both Andela and Dean."

Carmen frowned. "I don't understand."

The man's smile was kind, and he reached for her hand with his large one. "Carmen, Cas and I have talked things over with Hana, and I'm going to talk to Dean about it soon. We want to combine the families. It would take some weight off Hana, give her more freedom to travel for her job. It would ease everyone's mind knowing Andela and Dean were never really alone, but the burden to be here wouldn't fall on any one of us. Cas stays at the studio a lot of nights, but he wants to be with Andela too."

"So what are you suggesting...exactly?" Carmen found she could not prevent the lilt of hope from lifting her voice.

Sam gestured to Castiel.

"We move Sam and Dean, then Hana and Andela, into a house just outside the city. I've got ideas about how to design things so the changes won't shock Dean each morning. We photograph his space and create a room exactly like it before he moves in, and...I think I've got it all worked out. Four bedrooms will be all we need. Sam and me, Andela and Hana-when she's in town-and Dean. And one for the nurse."

Sam laughed. "The kitchen will need to be big enough for Andela and Dean to crash around in. And the garage will be overrun by Dean's projects. But I think it's doable." He shrugged. "But we need to find a nurse willing to care for Andela and Dean full time. She would be Andela's nurse, and Dean's companion. Someone we know and trust and love, someone-"

Carmen was in his arms before he could continue. "Yes! Sam, yes, God, yes!"

Castiel laughed. "We haven't talked about payment!"

"I said yes!" she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks again.

Sam chuckled, and pulled her in closer. "Someone who is already family," he finished at last, whispering it gently.

And here they were. Considering that the Bojovník family was giving her free room and board, meals and living expenses, the money she was paid from the insurance was plenty to live on comfortably. And she had gently brought up to Hana the inevitable situation in which Andela was no longer with them.

The younger woman had shrugged. "I don't know. By then, maybe you'll want to go back to a hospital or seeing patients in their homes like you did before. But you'll never need to worry about your place here, moja sestra. You are family." She winked. "Besides. Something tells me Andela will take good care of you when that time comes. She has more saved away than the boys think, but don't tell them. No worries, sister. Cas, Gabe and I will make sure you get what Andela means for you to have. Sam and Dean too."

So months, nearly a year after moving into this family house, inhabited by six men and women who adored one another, Carmen felt like she had already been well cared for, and she knew the others felt that she cared for them well too. She had never felt more content.

She touched Andela's soft cheek. "Rest, babička. I'll be right back." She slipped into the hall as the Bojovníks began conversing far too quickly for her stumbling beginners Slovak to follow. She leaned on the doorway into Dean's small workshop, and listened to the brothers.

"You've seen her, right?"

Sam laughed happily. "Yeah, man. I've seen her. Pretty."

"Not just pretty! Dude, she's like...I mean, have you seen her?"

She held in a giggle.

"Sammy, she just makes the whole world seem better, doesn't she? I mean, dude, she's...And she's smart too! Talk to her. You'll hear it right away. Not smart like, oh yeah, okay, like smart like you're smart!"

Carmen's fingers pressed to her lips. This was not one of Dean's more eloquent days. But it didn't matter. It was poetry to her. Another day, Dean would talk about seeing a wealth of comfort and peace in her eyes, about the way she moved with a grace only his brother could match, and only while dancing, about how her presence made him feel like everything was going to be all right. Today, it was less articulate, less verbose, but just as genuine.

She loved that man.

There were a lot of things she and Dean would never have, she reminded herself with a smile. But it never bothered her. They would never argue about money. They would never fight about forgetting an anniversary. They would never disagree about careers. All they had was day to day romance that would never fade, a sweet friendship that renewed every day. Mistakes or badly-spoken words were forgotten, washed away, and every day was a second chance to fall in love. Maybe they would never have a lot of things other couples had, but Carmen was content knowing what they could have. Long after another man's feelings would have worn down, Dean's never would. And if she left, as she often did on Saturdays, to have time for herself or to go out with Hana, it did nothing to hurt her friendship with Dean. She simply began again the next day.

"She's pretty smart, dude. Listen, I'm going out with Cas."

"The thug," Dean confirmed.

Carmen couldn't help the giggle now.

"Yeah," Sam said dryly. "The thug, jackass. I'm marrying this thug, you know, so you better record a new phrase for him in your next video."

"Okay. Sammy's thug. Better?"

"Whatever. Cas and I are catching a flight out this afternoon, and I'll be back in three days. You'll lose your memories before then, but you've got your videos, and Carmen will be here to help you."

"And her grandmother."

Tears stung at her eyes when she heard Sam's response. "That's right. Carmen's grandmother Andela, and her sister Hana. They'll be around too. And I'll call you. Bobby and Karen are going to stop in tomorrow. I'm sorry to miss them. But you should do your barbecue for them. I bet Karen would make pie."

Dean's voice was happy. "I'll have Carmen remind me. We'll save you some. Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah, man."

Carmen glanced into the room to see Dean pointing at his tattoo, and her chest swelled with delight. Dean had insisted on it a few days back, but Sam had been so busy preparing the gallery for an auction, and then this trip, that he had not noticed.

"What's that?" Sam breathed. "You get new ink? You didn't tell me!"

Carmen could not see it, but she knew what it said. It was in the space where Sam had written reminders for a long time. The three lines were filled in now, and the fifth one was corrected to read differently. The fourth had been strategically rewritten altogether.

1\. Sam still dances.  
2\. Carmen is family.  
3\. Castiel is family.  
4\. Don't be Dad.  
5\. Sam is happy.

"Yeah," the younger man confirmed. "Yeah, man, that about says it all."

"And it's true? You're happy?"

"Zlato! Poď, lásko! We'll be late!"

Sam sighed contentedly, and Carmen echoed him. "Happier than I ever knew I could be, big brother."

Dean just nodded, reached for his screwdriver, and went back to working on his latest project.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for coming along with me. Si mojou inšpiráciou. Please comment below!
> 
> ~Posing


End file.
